Green Team
by Petty Officer First Class Boo
Summary: Staff Sergeant Michael "Dust" Durst is a former Force Recon and MARSOC Marine. In his last tour of duty, he is to lead a completely fresh squad of recruits. Will they make it through Afghanistan in one piece? Or will they come home in shambles? Realistic.
1. Chapter 1: Two Weeks From Home

**AN: This is a realistic story set in 2014 where the United States haven't been pulled out from Afghanistan yet. I wrote this while writing my other story: At The Edge of The World. It is inspired by Andy Mcnab's book _War_ _Torn. _I hope you enjoy, read and review please.**

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Green Team

September 14th, 2014

Staff Sergeant Michael "Dust" Durst

Afghanistan

0935 Hours

It's been five days since we've left the base. Five days searching for an invisible enemy. One that you can't see, can't hear and sure as hell can't predict. But you could feel their eyes constantly staring at the helmet you were wearing, waiting to put a bullet in between your eyes. I sat on a rock in the middle of Konar near Afghanistan's Eastern border with Pakistan. Mountains rose behind me and the sun glittering through the cracks of the ice-capped peaks. Fogs of heat escaped my mouth with every breath I took, but it wasn't that cold. I've had worse in Arctic warfare training. I heard someone sneeze from behind me. The new recruits fresh out of boot camp was under my command, Lieutenant Able had sent us out in search of a fleeing Taliban guerrilla force, we've been chasing ghosts ever since. From inside a heavy jacket covered by a tactical vest, I pulled out a letter and a picture. It was from my ex-wife. One six year old boy and a four year old girl sat in a couch with the woman I married four years ago. They smiled holding up the Christmas presents I sent them from a shithole in Iraq before we were redeployed to Afghanistan. This unit, 2nd Marines, 6th Marine Regiment had a reputation of getting eighty percent of fresh recruits killed in their first tour. I had survived in Iraq. My buddy from boot camp, Private John Ink hadn't. He died from stepping on a mine while our young squad fooled around just outside the base. His parents received his paycheck and a letter saying their son died in glorious battle. Lies.

"Sarge, when are we going to get back to FOB Utah? We're getting low on rations," Lance Corporal Jimmy Wilkins, he was a natural born leader, the smart one of the group.

"When we find the ragheads or die trying," I whispered, he was also my second in command.

I looked back to see fifteen Marines no older than twenty huddling around in sleeping bags, trying to gain warmth. The sight brought back memories of countless tours of duty. The last one was suppose to be the final deployment, the doctors were afraid that I would have Traumatic Brain Injury. That is, until the squad leader responsible for training the recruits were killed from a roadside bomb. Just before I left, there was a letter on the kitchen table from my wife. The last words were, 'I'm taking the kids to their grandmother's.' She took everything. My money, my kids, even the house that I used to live in. I had to build everything from scratch. I sighed, slipping the picture and letter back into my vest. Why I didn't burn it, I don't know. Maybe it was the kids, maybe it was the only thing keeping me connected to home while I was in this alien world. I grabbed my M16A4, propped up against a nearby tree and stood up to shake off the frost that had coated my clothes since the past night. Layers of crystallized water cracked and fell onto the ice covered ground like leaves in a fall wind. I walked over to Corporal Wilkins and told him to wake up the green Marines.

"Hey, 3/6 Charlie it's time to move. Up and at it, let's go!" Lance Corporal Wilkins slapped each of the fifteen Marines on the head to give them a head start.

"Is it morning already Jim? Fucking hell, give me five minutes," Private Joshua Townsend, the trouble maker of the group and former American football star from high school.

"We're moving out Townsend. Get up before the ragheads but a mortar round in your mouth," Corporal Wilkins moved to his ILBE (Improved Load Bearing Equipment) pack and started to fold his sleeping bag and mattress.

"Sarge, we just slept three hours. Can't we just move out at high noon?" Private First Class Jake Simmons, Fireteam Bravo's Automatic Rifleman, he was solidly built and could dish out punishment like a tank.

"Well do we want to vote on it?" I asked turning around, my bag already packed and ready for travel.

"Yes Sarge," they murmured and slowly crawled out of their warm bags to meet the shiveringly cold breeze.

"Well I have bad fucking news. This isn't a democracy you little shits, what comes down from the top you execute. I have a job to get you into a firefight with a hiding enemy and come back in one piece and that's exactly what the LT expects me to do. Now get your ILBE loaded and on your backs in five mikes or they'll be high hell to pay back at the FOB." I shrugged on my pack, double-checked my rifle and made sure a round was inside the chamber.

"Yes Sergeant," they grumbled back and pulled on their desert MARPAT jackets.

It took the entire squad thirty minutes to become fully awake and finish packing up their gear. When we moved out, the sun had come out of the mountains and was sitting on the peaks. Ice started to melt into water, the liquid streaming down from the ice caps high above us. It amazed me that the guerrilla fighters didn't take this advantage to attack us. Rocks, gravel, and bits of dead vegetation crunched under my boots as we walked across the ridge and deeper into enemy territory. Over the mountains to our right stood Pakistan, flat plains lush with shade from the sun. It was cold now but soon it was about to become boiling hot. Sweat dripped down my face and into my jacket, adding to the grime that was already thick on my skin. Throughout the entire march, the Marines kept complaining about each and everything. Why we were walking on the mountains, why they had to go into the Marines and not college, why Afghanistan? I was walking behind two Marines in a single file line. Lance Corporal Jack Davis, Fireteam Alpha's leader, he was a reliable man and cool under fire. Behind him was the radioman, Private First Class Lucas Hayes, part of Fireteam Bravo. He was caring but quaked under fire and was a known coward. Maybe that's why he's radio operator. I heard a crackle in the distance. Everyone kept moving except me. Dust kicked up just next to Hayes.

"Contact, contact!" Hayes screamed, and the entire squad went prone.

"Where the fuck are they firing from?" my heart raced as my eyes darted around the entire mountain.

"Sergeant, the mountain just off to our right. I saw muzzle flash from inside one of those caves," Wilkins quickly reported, as dust kicked up just down the slope. Too close.

"Alright, fuck," I grumbled looking behind me to see an outcropping of rocks protruding from the mountain.

"Hey Charlie, get your ass up there and give us some suppressive fire!" I yelled seeing the young Marines still frozen by the sudden ambush.

"Charlie!" I screamed, only their squad leader got up.

"Get your asses up there right now," Corporal Nicholas Taylor bellowed at his subordinates and grabbed them by their packs.

"Yes Sarge," they yelled, suddenly realizing their orders.

"Bravo, give me precision strikes on those mother fuckers!" I tapped Hayes on the back and ran behind Bravo towards a small dip in the mountain, wither natural or artificial I didn't care.

"On it, Sergeant," Corporal Sam Griffin, an expert marksman replied.

I slammed my shoulder against the rock and turned the already-scared-shitless Hayes around. I pulled out the radiophone and listened for incoming traffic. The loud thrumming of the machine gun was distinct against the sporadic fire of the rifles. Townsend was up on the M27 Infantry Automatic Rifle, his finger jammed on the trigger. The thirty round magazine ripped through like fire and before you knew it, he was swapping out mags. Griffin fired once every fifteen seconds or so and paused to watch his rounds arc down towards the cave several hundred meters below. Alpha was right next to Bravo and wisely fired a couple of bursts into the caves to match or surpass the level of violence. Just then, a flash of light lit up the mountainside. One bang echoed through the mountains. _One loud fucking bang._ An RPG had been fired on us from one of the caves.

"Bulldog Actual this is Bulldog One One, we are at..." I paused and pulled out a portable GPS device.

"Grid 835 968, we have contact with fleeing guerrilla forces, over," I paused once again waiting for the reply.

"I've got a fucking jam!" Townsend's IAR was glowing a dull red with smoke rising from the barrel.

"Then fucking fix it and get some lead on those fuckers!" A round ricocheted off the rock in front of him, the zing fading right after the hit.

"Roger that Bulldog One One, what do you need, over," The reply finally came as another loud bang shook the Earth next to us.

"Fucking hell!" Hayes screamed, my hand gripping his pack kept him from moving.

"Taking fire! Light Weapons! Rocket Propelled Grenades! Requesting Air Support! Wait. Out," I yelled into the radio phone.

"Sergeant!" Townsend screamed just as an RPG streaked past the rock formation his was hiding behind.

"Bulldog One One, we have four F-35Bs in the skies. Callsign Dragon Five, expect them inbound in fifteen mikes," The radio crackled, Townsend was firing back at the caves with frantic ferocity.

"Fifteen fucking minutes? We can't survive that long with RPGs firing at us!" I yelled back into the radio.

"It's the best we got Bulldog One One. Take it or leave it," the harrowing noise of whistles echoed throughout the mountain, I looked over to Bravo and then back to the little dip.

"Hayes, get the fuck out of here," I ordered but he didn't budge.

"Hayes, get the fuck out!" I screamed and kicked him out from the cover we hid behind.

"But Sergeant, the enemy -" Hayes sputtered.

I saw him trip on a rock. Grabbing the back of his ILBE, I dragged him away from the cover and slowly ran towards Bravo. The entire Fireteam stopped and stared at the both of us. My left arm burned with lactic acid, my legs crying for oxygen. The edges of my vision started to darken and all I heard was my breathing. I heard a giant bang. The air rippled with heat. I felt something cut into my neck, arms, and legs. Warmth dripped down the cuts and into my clothes. I reached Bravo and dumped the radioman in front of them.

"Sergeant, you're hit." Private Hogan Gerald said from his entrenched position.

"No shit." I looked at my arms to see blood seeping out from the small red, exposed cuts.

"You should get it bandaged." Griffin suggested as I ignored him and crouched down.

"Sergeant, we're getting pounded! We need to get the fuck out of here!" Private Clark Johnson screamed from behind Townsend, he was Charlie's Assistant Machine gunner.

"Just simmer down, air support is on the way!" I screamed and slowly crouch to the right, a bullet zipping right next to my ear.

The bullet had already rocketed past my ear. I grumbled and lifted up my rifle until the sights cut into my eye line. Firing a few rounds into the cave, I continued to look out for small black specks in the sky. The whistling came again. This time I could feel the whistling shaking the ground through my boots. Left of me, Private Haye's eyes widened. His panicking and fear started to consume him. He started shaking horribly. He fell backwards and started to back away into a nearby crater.

"Hayes, get the fuck back here!" I yelled, he didn't respond.

"Hayes," I barked.

I got up to follow him, my gear weighing me down. Hayes pushed himself off the ground and started running towards the dip. The training drilled into his muscles overriding fear and even common sense. Adrenaline coursed through my veins and placed me in a high even that drugs couldn't match. I was addicted to combat. Hayes was far faster than I was. He ran towards the ditch. The ground shook with the crater exploding into a cloud of dust. I felt heat tingling my body and liquid dripping down from my cheek. My entire body was numb, but I was focused on Hayes. The brown fog stung my eyes and itched my throat. Fuck, this was annoying. I heard a groan. Slowly the dust dissipated to reveal a mangled body covered with dirt and blood.

"Shit," I grumbled taking off my helmet and placing it next to the body.

"Medic!" I screamed shrugging off my ILBE.

"Yes, Sarge?" Lance Corporal Hughes Douglas, the team's medic and assistant machine gunner from Bravo asked as I groped around for my blowout kit.

"Oh shit, Hayes!" He crouched down and pulled out his own kit, "Come on buddy, stay with me."

Hayes was groaning as blood leaked from the corners of his mouth.

"Put pressure on his wound!" I screamed seeing a giant cut on one of his thighs.

"The mortars sliced into one of the major arteries Sergeant! If we don't clamp it, he's going to die," Hughes quickly explained as he pulled out a clamp.

"Hey, Campbell!" I yelled waving at the Alpha's Automatic Machine gunner.

"Yes Sarge?" He asked and fired another round into the caves.

"Come and give some help to Hughes," I ordered grabbing his weapons from his hands.

"Roger that, here's some extra clips," Campbell tossed me a bag full of ammunition.

"Come on man, stay with us," Campbell whispered.

I growled, angry and frustrated at both the enemies and the rookies. This was the second man I lost on the tour. The first one was sent back home in a coffin from an accident at the firing range. He forgot to put on his helmet and was practicing alone. An unlucky bullet ricocheted off a loose steel plate and straight into his brain. He was dead before he knew it. Screeching filled the air as four black specks darted through the blue skies. The F-35Bs have arrived. I slowly inched away from the squad's formation and made my way to Hayes.

"Lift him up," I ordered.

"But Sarge, he's -" Hughes sputtered with blood all over his hands.

"Now damnit!" I had no time for bullshit.

Hughes and Campbell looked at me with anger. They both gripped Hayes and pushed him upright. Hayes groaned with anguish and pain. I grabbed his radio pack and tried to pull the straps out from his armor. He screamed, blood pouring out from his wounds. I pulled out my combat knife and cautiously cut the straps loose. His screaming stopped, I nodded to the two Marines and held the radiophone up to my ear. The blood slick on the radiophone assaulted my senses.

"Bulldog One One, Bulldog One One, this is Dragon Five, respond over," The radio crackled as the jets darted over the mountains once again.

"Dragon Five, this is Bulldog One One, we are under heavy enemy mortar fire. We have a man down," I screamed into the radio.

"Roger that Bulldog One One, we are over the mountain range but you have to mark yourself. We wouldn't want a blue on blue now would we?" The pilots asked, as I groped around for a smoke grenade in my backpack.

"Dragon Five, I am popping orange smoke just a few meters from our position. The enemy is to..." I paused and looked at my GPS once again.

"…our East, give'em hell!" I lofted a smoke grenade down the mountains and looked up to see the F-35Bs banking back towards us.

"Roger that Bulldog One One, Dragon Five going hot. Attacking from South to North with two cluster bombs," I watched Hayes's chest moving up and down with his mouth gargling blood.

"Bulldog One One, report," the radio squawked in my ear.

"Bulldog One One has suffered casualties, one Marine, Private First Class Lucas Hayes. Requesting MEDEVAC and a transport chopper to grid 835 968. T2 Casualty," I whispered into the radio with the distinct pops coming from mortars hidden behind or inside the caves.

"Roger that Bulldog One One..."

Everything was dead quiet.

The enemy had stopped firing.

"Bring them home. Alive," the F-35Bs swooped in low over the mountain caps and deployed their ammunition.

"Yes sir," the CBU-97 cluster bombs dropped in pairs.

One quick bang sounded, the outer skin being blasted off. Small little objects, which looked like canned foods, dropped from the bomb. Then, the entire mountainside exploded into a cloud of dust. The small little cans fired out penetrators into the ground. I let out a sigh of relief seeing that no more mortar pops or enemy fire was coming from the caves. With the F-35Bs flying overhead, no enemy dared to face us. I dropped the radio pack and moved over to Hayes who locked eyes with me. His blue cloudy eyes clung on to life. I knew that he was fighting it, even though he was a Quaker in battle. I gave a slow nod to him. He just blinked once, slowly. The rest of the squad slowly moved back to gave their comrade some moral support. They all clasped his hands, those others patting his head.

"You'll make it," they whispered.

"Form a perimeter. I don't want any ragheads coming within a mile near us," the men nodded and touched their friend on the head. Hayes tried to give them a reassuring smile.

"Bulldog One One, what's the status of the mission," I looked over to the mountainside the bombs just dropped.

"Dead sir, but unconfirmed," the F-35Bs rolled in again, two teardrops dropping from their frames.

"Roger that, good enough," two clouds of black smoke rose from the caves.

Shortly after, two bangs exploded and the shockwave jolted me backwards. That was the end of it. I gripped my rifle and waited for the helicopter. I became tired, numb and above all, my awareness was slipping away. The adrenaline was wearing off. Hughes had already stripped off Hayes's uniform to reveal his torso. It looked like minced meat, blood had covered the skin with slick red grime, while his cuts had exposed strings of muscle and moved with each of his breath. Hughes pulled out a white packet, ripping it in half and pouring it all over Hayes's wounds. The white powder made him hiss and gargle his blood.

"Sergeant, can you unfold the stretcher?" I gestured for three others to help me unfold it.

"Hayes, we're going to move you now. It'll hurt but just for a few minutes okay?" Hayes nodded slowly, his eyes fluttering.

"Fuck, he's slipping," Hughes wrote 'T2' with Hayes's blood on his cheek to denote the severity of the casualty.

"Bulldog One One, Bulldog Actual, where the fuck is that MEDEVAC?" Another bang was heard, and my left arm went numb.

"Five minutes," The reply came as I looked down at my left arm.

There was a sizeable cut on my bicep. Blood streamed down the grime riddled uniform and the red of the muscle gleamed in the sun. I grumbled, pulling out a roll of gauze while Hughes and Campbell attended to Hayes. I wrapped my arm around in gauze and forgot about it, Hayes was more important. A few minutes passed and there was no helicopter. The men were starting to get restless with a blanket of silence falling over the valley after the fighters dropped their bombs. I looked around to find the helicopters a place to land, the area was sloped and was not enough to support a twelve-ton twin rotor helicopter. The peak might and it wasn't far either.

"Charlie, get up on the slope and give me a place for the bird to land," Corporal Taylor nodded and signaled his men towards the top.

"Hey Sergeant," Griffin slowly groveled towards me.

"Yeah?" I whispered, looking at the mountains.

"I'm seeing some weird movements over the slope of the mountains," he had a death grip on his rifle's foregrip.

"You sure it's not just fatigue?" I asked, scanning the steep slope riddled with rocks.

"No it's not fatigue, I'm sure I saw white cloth with a back end of an RPG," I nodded and waited for Charlie to report.

"Okay, form a perimeter along that slope and tell me what you see. We'll keep contact by radio," still nothing from Charlie.

"Roger that. Bravo, let's move," the four men cautiously advanced on the slope with their rifles raised.

"Hey Sarge," one faint voice echoed down the ridge, I looked up to see Townsend on top of the peak waving both of his arms.

"The LZ's perfect!" he yelled as I was about to scream back.

"Contact!" Griffin reported, his squad's rifle exploding into volleys of crackles.

"Man down, man down," The radio crackled.

I looked back to see Townsend crumpling into the mountain, his black silhouette disappearing. Griffin was heavily engaged with the Taliban just right of me. Hayes needed to get up that hill and be grouped with Townsend. The sporadic cracks from the enemy's Warsaw Pact weapons signaled to me that they were close. I quickly ran over to Hughes who was trying to keep Hayes alive. Alpha had their weapons pointed towards Bravo to provide suppressive fire. I looked left to see one shape in the distance. His beard crusted with dust, turban dirtied by long days living with the ground and rusting RPG probably given to him by the CIA decades ago. My arms instinctively raised the rifle until the optics had lined up the single red dot against the tan of his head. I squeezed the trigger. _Crack_. His head exploded into a mist of red, the man falling forwards into the ground. The RPG in his hands detonating on impact probably from the twitch after his brain had severed connection with the muscles.

"Sergeant, the bird's here!" The radio crackled again.

"Alpha, get Hayes up to the peak," I ordered running forward and towards Bravo.

"My weapon fucking jammed!" one of the Marines from Bravo screamed.

"_Fucking fix it!_" I yelled back, seeing two of Alpha's boys helping Hughes and Campbell in lifting the stretcher.

The helicopters buzzed by our heads, one British AugstaWestland Apache AH1 attack helicopter leading a British Chinook and an American MH-60 Blackhawk transport helicopter. Two heads popped up from over the slope, their eyes locked onto Fireteam Bravo. Bravo answered back with a burst of fire to keep them at bay. Alpha was halfway up the slope with their rifleman giving the evacuating men suppressive fire. Another one popped up with an RPG slung on his shoulder, his white robes with a camouflage jacket worn over them fluttering in the wind. I lifted my rifle and fired. _Crack, crack, crack_. Three times I pulled the trigger. The first bullet missed, the second kicked up dust right in front of him while the third entered his stomach. He dropped his RPG and fell forwards, disappearing from the slope. The helicopters were banking away from us, their rotors chopping the air with a constant rhythm.

"Charlie, pop smoke," I ordered into the radio and tapped Griffin's shoulder.

"Leapfrog towards the exfil point. I'll cover you," Griffin nodded and with three of his men ran behind me.

I lifted my rifle and fired a long sustained burst into the ridge with one of his men, Private Hau Do. He was from a long line of Vietnamese immigrants who served in the United States Military. His baby face often fooled other people from his hardened and often explosive personality. My rifle clicked empty, smoke rising from the dull red barrel. I slapped in a fresh clip and paused to scan the slope. I waved Do towards the ridge and waited for his signal.

"Bounding!" he screamed, the words reflexively coming out from training.

"Covering," I replied and crouched down to maintain a good firing posture.

"Clear. Covering," I stood up to see the three men once again about to attack.

"Contact!" Do fired off three rounds.

"Fuck, jammed again," he grumbled with clear frustration.

I slowly walked back towards him firing in single shots to conserve my ammo. Sporadic fire towards the peak told me that the other half of Bravo has us covered. Running up the slope, I picked up the radio pack on the way. The thing weighed like a sack of bricks. Thumping from the helicopter's rotorblades signaled that extraction was near. I could feel liquid dripping down my left arm. I payed no attention to it and continued my climb. Gun fire stopped, Bravo was reloading. Do was busy trying to get the offending round out of the rifle's firing chamber.

"Do, get up that ridge with Bravo. I've got this," I fired another round into the slope to keep the enemy at bay.

"But Sarge," Do started, still fiddling around with his rifle.

"No buts Marine. Get your ass up there," the helicopters hovered over the mountain peak, the Chinook's ramp lowered and locked into place.

The four Marines hiked it up the mountain while I fired the occasional round into the mountain side. I looked down at my vest to see three empty magazines and one, final clip partially empty. My vision blurred as my head became light headed. Dizzy and off the edge, I kept watch while Bravo arrived at the mountaintop. Glancing back, I saw Griffin wave for me to follow him. Dirt splattered at my face. The enemy dared to take out the lone Marine with an orbiting Apache helicopter overhead. I stood up and fired a quick burst into the enemy before quickly running up the mountainside to repeat the process. _Thump, thump, thump_. I looked up to see the ugly attack helicopter orbiting far above the mountains. Three yellow molten slugs flying from the underside of the beast and arcing down towards the slope. The mountain shook beneath my feet as the rounds slammed into the ground, kicking up dirt and rocks high into the sky. I tucked my head into the body armor, feeling the pebbles raining on my helmet.

"Sergeant!" a voice yelled from behind me, it was Lance Corporal Wilkins.

I ran up with mountains with Campbell's M27 IAR and a radio pack. The equipment started to weigh me down and the mountain was steeper than it actually was. The peak was just a few meters away. Through gritting teeth, I heaved myself up the mountain and finally pulled myself onto the semi-flat peak. The rocky and uneven summit was engulfed in a torrent of dirt and soil from the rotors of the Blackhawk and the Chinook kicking up a gigantic hurricane of dust. I pulled out my goggles to protect my eyes from the offending wind. My squad stood next to the Blackhawk with medical teams quickly fixing up the messy job Hughes had done to save Hayes's life. Lumbering towards the now squad of thirteen, Wilkins walked out to greet me. The gale ate at my clothes and tried to swat the two of us off the mountain.

"How's the wounded?" I asked, giving the automatic rifle back to Campbell.

"Townsend had a minor flesh wound, a clean shot through the shoulder. Hayes..." Wilkins looked over my shoulder.

"Severe blood loss, burns from the detonation of the mortar, trauma, you name it, he has it," Wilkins yelled, a female flight nurse walking over to him.

"Where's your CO? I'm here to give him the dog tags before we fly back out to Camp Bastion!" the British flight nurse reported as I turned to her.

"That's me," I stated plainly, her eyes drifting down to the blood soaked gauze bandaging on my arm.

"You're bleeding."

I scoffed and ignored the comment.

"It's just a flesh wound, far from the heart," I grumbled and gestured for Wilkins to board the blackhawk.

"It's not _just_ a flesh wound Sergeant. The risks of infection and secondary bruising from the dirty ammunition the Taliban is high, we need to treat it now before it's too late." I felt like a child being scolded by his mother.

"I'll take care of the squad Staff Sergeant, you go on with Hayes and Townsend!" Wilkins yelled from the Blackhawk.

Looking down at my wound and then back at the flight nurse. She was not going to let me go. I grumbled and nodded. I gave a thumbs-up to the Blackhawk pilot. The utility helicopter ascended straight into the sky before pitch forward and disappearing below the mountain peak. All that was left was the numb feeling of my arm and the stinging sensation of the wind. Balancing over the edge of the summit was the Chinook. It's two rear wheels gripping the ground while the forward portion of the helicopter hung in mid-air, a pinnacle landing. The pilots must be pissed at the both of us for taking so long. We ran in at an angle from the helicopter to prevent ourselves from being cooked by the twin engines of the Chinook. I stepped on the helicopter's ramp with the rear gunner waiting at an instrument panel bolted onto the side of the helicopter's inside. One last look before I flew myself off this forsaken land, this mountain range sheltering the cowardly bastards that injured my men. It was my fault for training them so. With one last whiff of the moist and warming air, I stepped over the ramp and into the cargo hold full of medics rushing around Hayes's body. The rear gunner smacked the Chinook's frame before raising the ramp. Brown dirt faded into blue sky as the ramp locked into a raised position, with just enough room for us to see into the terrain below. I grabbed a seat next to Townsend. The normally cheery and energetic Marine now silent, he looked like an empty shell with the shocking moments of the bullet penetrating through his shoulders replaying in his head with an infinite loop. The British flight nurse inched towards me and pulled out her medic kit, her blue medical gloves stained with Hayes's blood. I grabbed her tactical vest and yanked her face close to mine. She yelped with surprise as rumbling shook the Chinook.

"Him first, me second," I demanded, my instincts and responsibility as squad leader overriding all other judgments in my head.

"He's taken care of, you aren't," she bravely retorted and smacked my hand away.

"Olivia, Op Vampire!" one of the flight surgeons yelled from the front of the helicopter.

"Kyle, Op Vampire!" she conveyed the message to the rear gunner.

"Bravo Zero Nine, Op Vampire, repeat, Bravo Zero Nine, Op Vampire," Op Vampire, calling all volunteers to donate blood to the incoming patient.

I sighed looking at Hayes as the flight nurse ripped my bandage open. Sharp pain shot through my arm. I looked back down to see her dousing my wound in alcohol before pulling out a sewing kit. Metal wires and a needle. Immobilizing pain shot through my spine, my jaw clenched to control the pain. This was just one of many injuries I received on the battlefield. A stray strand of hair fell across her blue eyes. She quickly tucked the lock behind her ear and continued to work on my wound, the blonde hair now stained with red.

I reached inside my tactical vest and pulled out the photograph. I turned it over to read to words written on it, 'Come back soon dad, we miss you! Jake and Holly. 5/23/2014.' Only two weeks were left before 3/6 Charlie and I would leave this place—this back-end country where the corrupt and the tyrants rule. On your first tour you came to understand why so many people despise it. It took everything away from you. Your friends, your squad mates, and the most important thing of all, your sanity. I just hope that 3/6 had enough training to survive, even if it was just two weeks. I had to bring the home. Alive.


	2. Chapter 2: Camp Bastion

Green Team

September 14th, 2014

Staff Sergeant Michael "Dust" Durst

Afghanistan

1432 Hours

Camp Bastion was a very different place from Forward Operating Base Utah, the two contrasted each other almost entirely. Instead of Utah's makeshift, open-air bunks pitched up with steel poles and a tarp hammock, Camp Bastion had air-conditioned isoboxes. Isoboxes or isolation boxes were giant containers for contractors and soldiers to live in. They blocked out sound and were protected from shrapnel. Inside comfy air mattress with blankets awaited the tired victim of sleep. Barracks, fast food services, protected buildings all lined the neatly smoothed dirt roads of Camp Bastions. All we had were four primitive watchtowers; some barbwire covering the only entrance and exit out of the FOB and HESCO lined walls for protection. I stood outside the medical building, people watching. A pair of Army infantrymen walked by. Uniform, clean without so much as a grain of sand on it, their faces were clean shaved and still slightly red from the sun. On their jacket's shoulder sleeve was a primitive arrowhead with a T written dull gray. The army's 36th Infantry Division. These guys just recently deployed, they haven't even gotten into the mix yet. I sighed, adjusting the grip on my rifle. I had sent Townsend off to the mess hall to get something to eat and to think about what he just saw. Maybe it was the best for him, maybe it wasn't. Then, something caught my eye. Two men walked past me with their weapons completely dirty. On their face was a thick beard full of dirt and sand, the skin tanned and rough. Their uniform was cut up and torn along with their gloves. Now I realized just how skinny my men were. Although they weren't as skinny as the Army infantry, their Marine brothers were far bigger and tougher. Something creaked open behind me; it was the flight nurse coming out with her helmet in her hands. Her hair tied in what looked like a 'neat' bun was now frenzied. I noticed how tired she was, dark bags under her eyes and a few wrinkles creeping up her face.

"I'm sorry, but," she looked back at the medical building with a sigh.

"The doctors are all busy at the moment. You'll have to stay here for a day or two before the Colonel will check on you and your man. Clearance to go back into duty should come shortly afterwards," she drew a deep breath before looking to the Chinook taking off from the landing pad, "I'll be off duty in a few minutes. Doc wants you near the blood tray at all times. I have some time to show you your temporary residence."

I shook my head.

"No thanks. I can find my way around."

"You Marines are just too proud. Stay here Sergeant, don't make me pull rank on you," she took it lightly, laughing and walked back into the hospital.

I grunted and turned around to see Townsend running down the dirt road flanked with barracks. Two plastic cups in his hand, wincing from his wound as he ran. It was a comical sight, with his helmet on his head flopping around like a fish on land. Infantrymen looked at him and laughed at his state, torn clothes, dirtied weapon and a grin that stretched from ear to ear.

The old and crazy Townsend was back.

"Hey Staff Sergeant," Townsend said with a wince as he handed me a plastic cup, "I bought you some Latte. I thought you'd like the caffeine."

"And when the fuck did I tell you I liked coffee," I asked taking the coffee from his hand.

"I just," he took a sip of the aromatic beverage, "assumed Sarge."

"When do you want your weapon back? Or do you want me to take the load off of your back for a couple of fucking minutes?" I took a sip from the cup, bittersweet liquid biting at my tongue.

"Oh right," he said with a weak laugh as I handed him his weapon.

The two of us stood in front of the hospital sipping coffee, waiting for the flight nurse. I occasionally glanced back at the traumatized Private to make sure he was alright in the head. Shaking shook the ground beneath us. Dropping out of the sky and onto the helipad was a HH-60 Blackhawk used to MEDEVAC soldiers out of the battlefield. The passenger door opened with four American male flight nurses jumping out with a stretcher. One humvee pulled up to load the injured into the back. I grimaced and looked at the plastic cup with a thought crossing my head. I'm here sipping coffee while other Marines were out in the field dying. I looked over to Townsend whose smile had faded into a morose stare, looked on as the Humvees came to a screeching halt next to us. The doctors burst open from the door, opening the backdoor and wheeled the injured in. One of the senior doctors looked around and saw us, his red scrubs stained with sweat and blood.

"You two," he pointed towards us.

"Yes sir," I stood stiff and finished the coffee cup.

"You Marines don't looked too injured. Grab a mop and help us clean up the blood," I looked at Townsend who chugged down the caffeine and smashed it down into the ground.

"Townsend," I threw the cup into a nearby trash bin.

"Yes Sarge?" he asked with a big smile.

"Pick up your fucking trash. I don't want my section of the FOB being littered," his smile was wiped off his face as he quickly picked up the cup and shoved it into the bin.

Inside the field hospital, the air was musky. Not with the usual sterile antiseptic smell but it stank of blood and the red liquid was all over the floor like overflowing water. A nurse who had her surgical gloves dirtied by blood and scrubs tinted red threw us two mops. I caught it with one free hand, propping it up against the wall as I pulled out the magazine from my gun and shoved it into the pouch. The two of us started to mop the blood caked floor. Blood started to dry and took on a disgusting brownish color and it was hard to scrub off. Patients screamed from agony as their bodies were riddled with burns, wounds and cuts. Split into small sections, all six zones were filled with one patient and each section was filled with a full crew. Doctors, nurses and assistants. They were really undermanned. This was no normal hospital. Where there was curtains to protect the privacy, there was none here. They were doing what the medic's creed worldwide told them: help everyone as best as they can. These weren't screams you would forget, they sounded feral, raw, a fight to survive. They snipped away clothing that obscured wounds and poured antiseptics everywhere. The sound of doors opening drew me to a handful of young British Infantrymen. Nurses rushed to them and quickly tugged on their arms, staining their innocent, reddened skin with blood. These must be the donors for Hayes and all the men inside here. It honestly felt like a graveyard. You either survive or die. The flight nurse walked out with a mop, her face etched with irritation. She walked over to us as her boots sploshed with fresh red blood.

"You cleaning with us grunts too, Lieutenant?" Townsend pushed the mop with his uninjured arm, the cloth strands soaking up the blood and dripped like a leaky faucet.

"Play nice, Townsend," I grunted back and quickly silenced the Private.

"Is this the kind of men under your command?" she asked resting an arm on her mop's handle.

"Unfortunately," she smiled, rows of white teeth gleaming back at me, "Most of them aren't even twenty yet."

"What's an experienced Sergeant like you doing with a back end unit?" she was just full of questions today wasn't she?

"TBI," I stated, seeing Townsend whistling a tune to keep himself occupied and moving slowly away from us.

"Traumatic Brain Injury? You should really be honorably discharged." her insight was helpful, even if it was a year too late.

"Reactivated, grooming the Lance Coolies to become squad leaders," I said with grim truth as a beep silenced all movement in the room.

"We're losing him!"

Time stood still.

Only the nurses and doctors in a section closest to us were in motion. One grabbed the defibrillator, another pressed his hands on the soldier's neck to find a pulse. A nurse ripped the soldier's shirt wide open, the two shock pads being pressed onto the blood stained torso.

"Clear!" the doctor yelled.

The body jolted upwards.

"Two hundred joules!" the other sections continued to operate on their patients without a loss of concentration.

"Clear!" the doctor yelled once again.

Nothing.

The soldier laid on the stretcher, his limbs and body lax. His chest forever still although his blue eyes stared groggily at the ceiling. The doctor continued once more. He pressed the shock pads to his chest. All three of us mopping the floors stood and watched. I hoped that a miracle would happen and he would somehow come back to life, but that state of his with the lax hands and hundred yard stare told me he was gone. His body jolted upwards. The only thing that changed was the position of his hand, and that didn't even flinch. The crew of six around him gave up. Their sighs of guilt evident in their breath. The doctor slid his bloodied hands over the soldier's face. I undid the strap of my helmet, placing it on my chest and closed my eyes.

"May the sea be calm and the wind still, for this soldier has moved on," I whispered a small blessing. It was tradition when someone was killed in action or in this case, in the combat hospital.

I pulled the helmet back on and looked to the flight nurse. She had closed her eyes, hands clasped together on her chest and was whispering something to the fallen. Her petite stature intrigued me. One as small as her being a flight nurse who had the duty to take care of the wounded was intense, especially when they came in full of blood. She rocked forwards and backwards on her heels as she prayed. I sighed and got on with work. The floor wasn't going to clean itself. Townsend was slowly mopping his way towards me and looked towards a British soldier walking out from the bowels of the combat hospital. The first one looked pale.

"Sarge, looks like we got a badass over here," Townsend chuckled, his sleeves were rolled up to his biceps with no band-aid or cotton over the middle of his arm.

"Trypanophobia," Townsend gave me a curious look.

"Trypan-what?" I opened my mouth.

"Trypanophobia, the fear of needles. Apparently that soldier wanted to 'get into' with his mates," the flight nurse interjected as I watched the soldier walk out of the hospital.

"What a pussy," Townsend walked away to go empty out the blood absorbed in his mop.

"Where's the B Pos blood I requested?" one of the doctors screamed from the right.

"Here sir," an assistant ran out from a corridor.

We watched the team of eight hook up the blood packet onto the patient's arm, the man himself groaning from pain. Eventually the hospital's grinding came to an end. The blood was mopped up by us three and the patients all within their wards. Hayes was still being operating on but at least we could get some shut eye. I learned the flight nurse's name after working along side her and idly chatting. Lieutenant Olivia Young, born in Bristol, she came from a line of leading businessmen with two older brothers and a younger sister, she dreamed of becoming a doctor from a young age before entering the military to travel to world. She did get to travel, just not in the way she would like. Darkness had fallen over the giant base. Blankets of the night were only pierced by giant flood lights. Usual silence in the FOB was replaced by the roaring of gigantic transport aircraft and attack jets returning from close air support sorties. I yawned and tried to stretch my arms into the air, only to be reminded by stinging in my left arm. Townsend was ready to fall asleep, his eyelids flickering.

"So Lieutenant, where's this barracks of yours?" she yawned and rubbed her eyes.

"I thought you Marines didn't need a guide," she smirked, what a cocky bastard.

"Alright fine, I'll see the barracks out myself. Don't need some Brit to show me," I stated and started to walk away with Townsend.

"I'm just joking Durst, no need for the hostilities," she walked ahead of us, I grabbed Townsend by the scruff of his jacket and dragged him after her.

"Hey, Sarge. Not so rough!" he yelped as I hefted the heavy assault rifle in my left arm.

"I have to do an AAR with you afterwards on your performance," I grumbled with clear frustration at the Private.

"An After Action Report? Can't it wait until after we catch some Zs?" he moaned, I rolled my eyes and pushed him towards a small house Olivia stopped at.

"Here are your quarters. Over there is the bathrooms, and beyond that the mess," Olivia explained and yawned.

"What about you LT? Where are your sleeping quarters?" Townsend was started to agitate me again, just like when I met him.

"I don't give information like that out to anyone below my pay grade," I chuckled inside.

"Yeah sure..." he mumbled beneath his breath.

"...except the Staff Sergeant." I glared at him.

"I heard that Private. Now get your sorry ass inside," he marched inside with a large grin on his face.

"Alright, so. I'll change your bandages and let you guys rest afterwards," I looked to examine the house.

"No need, I can change it myself."

"Not you Sergeant. You don't need me to help you change if you don't want to, I mean the Private," she answered swiftly before entering the small residence.

It was a small one story hut with a small AC unit built near a side window. The crème walls which were reinforced and well built seemed inviting enough. Its slanting roof left something to be desired. Maybe Kevlar lining in the slates to prevent shrapnel. Who knew? Stone foundations lifted the small hut off the ground and underneath was filled with sandbags and hescos to protect the officer's equipment underneath. There were the same buildings extending down the row in an endless line. Barracks must be else where. I sighed and walked up the steps. The door opened without even a creak, unlike Utah's old and rotten wooden doors. Inside was Townsend, sitting on a bed complete with mattress, blankets and a pillow. Two tables, two beds, two of everything, mirroring each other on both sides. Lieutenant Young sat next to Townsend with a small med-kit. Her hands were unwrapping his shoulder bandages. The two look pleased. I paid no attention and walked over to the table, placing my dirtied rifle and pistol on the wooden surface. The heavy body armor slammed onto the floor with a dull thud, my helmet clattering on the floor and rolling to a stop. I was tired and exhausted. But that didn't mean I could ignore all hygienic rituals before bed. A clean Marine is a healthy Marine.

Unwrapping the bandages, I could see the metal wires holding my skin together with evidence of dried blood. It was caked brown with both dust and blood. Near my rucksack was a med-kit. Inside was alcohol and a small white, dirtied rag used in countless battles throughout the middle-eastern region. I bathed the rag in dripping blue alcohol. Wiping the stinging rag on the wound, red, brown and black mixed together on the rag to produce a myriad of streaks across the fabric. My jaw clenched and tasted blood. I bit my tongue while constantly wiping the rag back and forth on the wound. Just what I needed, more wounds. Fresh white bandages wrapped around my arms next. Gripping the roll of gauze in my mouth, I pressed down hard with cotton padding on the wound to make sure no dust or dirt got in. Soft but rough hands took my hands off the bandages.

"You really don't have to go through all that trouble. I am here you know," Lieutenant Young pulled the bandages tight around my already weathered bicep.

"Like I said, I've done it many times before. It's not the sixth or so time – Lieutenant," I enunciated the word and saw her look up at me with a glare.

"What's up with you Staff Sergeant? You have a stag against us Brits? Or the military doctors?" I scowled, it was an unusual question coming from her. Usually an intelligent woman such as herself would have stormed out in frustration a long time ago.

"Just anyone who gets in the way of me and my men," I growled seeing her putting tape on my bandages, "thanks."

"No problem," she smiled slyly, "in return, tell me your side of the story."

"What, my story?" I pushed myself off the bed and grabbed my assault rifle.

"Yeah," she said plainly sitting on my bed as I broke the rife open to clean it.

"Well, I enlisted when I was seventeen with my parent's consent. I was a designated marksman until twenty, got my break into Scout Sniper school at twenty two before enrolling into Recon school six months after that. Worked until twenty four until I got called for MARSOC and by then the doctors said I've been through too many explosions. Might have TBI, I was honorably discharged until the Sergeant who was supposed to be stepping in for 3/6 Charlie was killed. I've been their surrogate mother ever since," she just looked at me. What was she really trying to find?

"That's quite the story," I laughed, re-accounting my own life was like a cake walk compared to the things I've been in.

"What's so funny?" she asked the confusion written on her face.

"Nothing, just something insignificant," I replied, looking over her shoulder to see Townsend about to go to sleep.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Lieutenant. I've got to school my ill-disciplined gunner," upon hearing the word, his eyes glanced over in my direction.

I saw her out the door and thanked her for taking care of both of us. Before she left, we exchanged a few pleasantries. Words like: Brit, Yank, Wanker and Shit Eater were used. After sending Lieutenant Olivia Young off, turned around to look at Townsend. He had his eyes closed and the stench of human body odor swirling in the air conditioned room. He took off his armor and jacket but that was about all. His M27 propped up against the wall with a magazine inside, the fire selector glinting in the dim light switched to the safe position. I hated people like him with a carefree, do it later attitude. In battle, that meant life and death.

"Townsend, sit up and dump the mag from your weapon," I ordered in a soft but forceful tone.

He didn't move.

"Townsend," I said once again, he sprang to life and quickly did as ordered.

"Yes Sarge," it sounded like he had something stuck in his throat.

"Do you know why we're having an AAR?" I pulled a chair from Townsend's desk.

"Because I was being stupid," he mumbled under his breath.

"What was that?" I asked, feigning my bad hearing.

"Because I was being stupid, Sarge!" he yelled so loud my ear drums felt like they were around to burst.

"That's good, you're a Marine. So yell out everything you say and make sure it's louder than the shit going down around you. And yes, because you were stupid," he winced at the last few words as I repeated them, "now how were you stupid, Townsend?"

"I went up on the summit and yelled down to you, instead of radioing it," his eyes averted mine, trying to hide the fact that he let me down.

"Look at me when I'm talking Townsend. We don't avert our eyes when we face death, we slap him on the face and say 'not today, fucker' because we're Marines. That's what we live for. Remember that," Townsend nodded slowly and locked his light brown eyes with mine.

"Yes Staff Sergeant," he answered back, his voice loud and confident.

"Right. When we get back to Utah, you're on shit duty for a week and I'm increasing your fitness load. Six miles instead of five, fifty push-ups full six day combat load and eighty pull-ups full six day combat load." he groaned.

"No bitching, you got it?" I asked taking off my shirt and walked towards the door.

"Yes Sergeant," he replied and did the same.

"Time for a bath," I walked outside, half naked staring at the dim street of the residence area.


	3. Chapter 3: Going Home To Utah

**Author's Note: Thanks for all the favorites and reviews. I will continue pumping out new content every chance I get. Now, without further ado, please enjoy Green Team.**

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Green Team

September 15th, 2014

Staff Sergeant Michael "Dust" Durst

Afghanistan

0450 Hours

_Screaming, lots of screaming. High pitched and full of fear. The air was hot and it seared the exposed skin. Bright ye__llow rays of light emanated from the ball of light floating high in the middle of sky. Fourteen men, a full infantry squad ducked behind a trench farmers had dug to supply their crops with water. The dark swirling liquid smelled of rotten flesh, dirt and e__xcrement. In front, was a field of freshly harvested poppies. Usually the farmers were out replanting crops, cultivating the land and children would be out playing in the fields. But, none of that today. The clear blue sky in front of the small infantry sq__uad was filled with green tracers and hot lead. I was part of that squad, my first engagement before going to Iraq. The first time death had hit home. Blood seeped from Corporal Grant's face, Fireteam Alpha's machine gunner, in his arms a gigantic __ paid no attention to the wound and was locked in a mental battle to keep himself from dropping into a pit of exhaustion. It had started since dawn, Operation: Hammerfist. A simple and quick raid using three Marine platoons, an entire company of Marines to__ search two small villages for suspect Taliban weapon caches. It was simple that even a blind monkey could do it, but the Taliban happened and ambushed us before we even got a few hundred meters inside the villages. They encircled us and forced us on the d__efensive. Air support was incoming but was coincidentally and accidentally the start of the operation lined up with the start of the Iraq War. Major air support assets were redirected to help with the invasion. So far one of our LAVs were out of commission__ from a broken suspension and command was getting restless, so was my squad leader: Sergeant William O'Connors._

"_The brass better start unfucking themselves or else I'm going to take the operation into my own hands," he glowered and hefted his M16 rifle._

"_It's already FUBAR since the beginning, Sarge!" Private Moss, a friend of mine in Fireteam Bravo screamed from behind us._

"_Shut your dick hole, Moss! We don't need your five IQ brain to think in this situation!" Sergeant O'Connor's temper was getting short._

"_Corporal Durst, what can you see?" he asked me._

_I had set up a small position a few meters in front of the squad. Being a designated marksman, I had my hands on the M14 DMR. It was effective up to eight hundred meters – far beyond any infantry rifle. Looking through the scope was like looking through a paper towel's cardboard cylinder except magnified. On the other side five hundred meters of harvested poppies were two mud houses. Two windows in each and a low wall surrounding it's perimeter. Flashes of bright orange and yellow enveloped the windows. Dust exploded from the low walls and similar barriers with small holes knocked out to provide holes to fire from. On the low wall were at least four men manning what looked like ancient RPK machine guns. Their white turbans and shaved faces showed that these guys were ready to die at any moment. I swiveled the rifle left. Bravo squad was to our left, a man bleeding from his leg was propped up against a mud house facing a dirt street cutting into the middle of the town. Their men returning fire at an ever slow rate to conserve ammo. I had only fire two shots in the entire battle. One to keep the enemy suppressed and another while searching a house before being ambushed. I turned back to the two houses in front of us and flicked the safety off, something was going to happen so. I could feel it deep within my gut._

"_Four enemy machine gunners to our front, five hundred meters and muzzle flare from the windows," I replied and settled myself into a state of zen._

"_Well fuck," Sergeant O'Connor spat, "looks like we need to unFUBAR ourselves."_

"_Viper One Alpha to Viper One Actual, we are going weapons hot and into the mix. We are unfucking our situation over," Sergeant O'Connor spoke on the radio._

"_Negative, Vipe__r One Alpha! Hold your current position and wait for further orders," the Captain answered back from the 2__nd__ Battalion's position to our right flank._

"_Fuck that noise, Sarge. We going in or what?" One of my squaddies asked._

"_Damn right we are," he took out a cigar, biting the end off and lit it with a Zippo lighter he usually carried with him. It looked like he was smoking his last stick._

"_Here's what we're going to do," he breathed, smoke escaping his mouth in the hot sun of Afghanistan, "Charlie is going to lead the attack while Alpha gives the fire support -"_

"_What the fuck, Sarge we're supposed to be __**leading**__ the charge not benched like pussies during a giant game," Private John Ink groaned, he was part of my Fireteam._

"_If you limp dicks don't shut the fuck up, I'm going to beat you so hard google won't be able to find you," he drew another whiff from the cigar, "Alpha is assigned to fire support because of that giant thing you call the M14 DMR."_

"_I want Bravo and Charlie to prep smoke grenades into the launchers. This is going to be the fucking charge up Hamburger Hill," the grenadiers of Bravo and Charlie slid in their 40mm smoke rounds into the M203's chamber._

_Sergeant O'Connor was pushing fifty years old and was in the Marines during the closing__ phase of the Vietnam War. He was in the shit during the Battle of Khe Sanh and his experience was invaluable in the brown and desert world of Afghanistan. He carried the M16A3 into battle, years passing as it evolved from the new and space-age rifle it wa__s back in the '60s. Rivers of sweat ran down our faces and carved streams through the dirt that caked on the skin. My squad was full of young and eager Marines, some naive, some bloodthirsty, but most were scared shitless and it was our first contact. I fe__lt my gut tighten in dread as a bullet zipped so close to my ear, I could feel the heat and pressure as it passed by. Two Marines moved up next to me with Sergeant O'Connor right behind them. There was a short pause. I heard the ruffling of clothing and th__e muffled sound of a pat. __**Pop, pop**__. "Rounds out!" one of the Marines yelled. I watched the small specks of gray arc high into the cloudless sky. They impacted the ground with an inaudible thud. The rounds exploded and soon red and yellow smoke bellowed fro__m the middle of the poppy fields. I stared at two machine gunners from my scope, their rifles kicking dust from the wall. Slowly, smoke smothered the sight with a mixture of yellow and red bundled together._

"_Bravo, Alpha, move the fuck up!" Sergeant O'Connor roared before running straight into the mist himself._

"_Covering fire!" Corporal Simmons, Sergeant O'Connor's second-in-command and my Fireteam leader ordered._

_Two full fireteams, eight Marines, rushed towards the thick smoke. Their body armor and six__-day assault packs flapping up and down over their body as they ran. I heard the thrumming of a machine gun. The sound vibrated through my entire body, each shot so loud it temporarily muted all sound. A staccato of rifle fire added to the mix, the two sou__nds different like a waterfall and a drizzle of rain. I aimed where one of the machine gun totting Taliban was. __**Crack**_. _The 7.62mm round flew right through the smoke, leaving a small hole in the smoke from the supersonic nature of the round. Yellow smoke sw__irled just where the bullet went, the machine gunner's head __just a few inches to the right of the hole. I adjusted and held my breath.__** Crack.**_ _The smoke revealed a man hunched over his machine gun with red blood splattered all over the house's mud wall._

"_Viper One Actual, we're in a jam. Can you get a SMAW on that house? Retard One-Three Alpha left it at the hole," Sergeant O'Connor radioed._

"_Roger that Viper One Alpha, Viper One Alpha copies," Corporal Simmons looked over to me, sweat pouring down his face from the Arab sun, "Durst, find that fucking boom stick."_

_I looked around behind me, the murky water filled with spent ammunition and empty water bottles. Where was that launcher? One greenish cylinder poked out from the Earth between Corporal Simmons and Private Ink. Moving behind them, I yanked the SMAW from a wooden branch holding it in place. I paused to look at a dead Taliban. His turban stained with red from his blood and mud dried, caked on his face. The other end was missing._

"_Simmons!" I screamed._

"_What?" he yelled back._

"_The rocket's is gone!" I picked up my rifle and fired two shots towards the smoke._

"_What?" I mentioned to the tube's backside, open like a can of tuna._

"_Viper One Actual, we are missing the SMAW's rocket! I repeat, missing the SMAW's rocket!" There was a brief pause from the radio as we continued to return fire._

"_Viper One Alpha, search the irrigation system. Alpha One-Three wrapped it in a plastic bag to keep sand and water out," I looked back down at the river._

"_Found it!" Corporal Grant stated, behind him and submerged in murky water with only a few centimeters above the water was a plastic bag._

"_Bring it here," Corporal Simmons grabbed the arm length plastic bag and tore it open._

"_Load it up."_

_I grabbed the tube, pulling out the spotting magazine and the rocket's protective bracket before slotting the rocket into the launcher. The pair fit perfectly, I turned the rocket and received a small click in response. Slapping the magazine into a small little rifle on the right side, I shouldered the weapon and waited for Simmons to give me the all-clear to fire._

"_Viper One Actual, Viper One Alpha, SMAW is armed and hot," I looked through the telescopic sight to see the smoke slowly dying, it's yellow and red colors fading._

"_Viper One Actual, cleared hot."_

"_Cleared hot, Durst," I felt a smack on my helmet._

_Like the M14, I slowed my breathing before squeezing the trigger. __**Clack**__. One small red, glowing speck arced down towards the house before disappearing in a cloud of dust. __The round landed short, just below the wall. I readjusted the scope and slap the magazine bolt forward. __**Clack**__. This time the spotting round landed right in the middle of the right house's wall. I looked around and locked the spotting rifle's bolt back, als__o flicking the safety of the rocket launcher off. "Back blast clear?", "Clear!" was the response. "Fire when ready!" I kept the sights were it was just a few centimeters higher than the roof of the building. My finger slowly pulled the trigger back. __**Bang**_. _The rocket motor exploded, kicking my shoulder and blasted the water behind me into the air, dust swirled around from the disturbance and a small glowing orb was arcing towards the building._

_A bright flash and smoke enveloped the house._

"_Fuck, yeah!" one of the men yelled in joy._

"_Alpha, move up and regroup with us, pronto," Sergeant O'Connor ordered._

"_Alright Ape-shit Alpha, time to show the squad what we're made of," Corporal Simmons's prep talk didn't really had an effect on me._

"_Let's move out!"_

_We sprung up from the ground and made a sprint for the team three hundred and fifty or so meters away. The gear I carried was heavy, a combination of forty kilograms of equipment and supplies in my pack and an eight kilogram rifle in my arm weighed down my legs, not to mention the SMAW's launcher component. Acid started to pump into the muscles and slowly they were starting to itch and pain. My breathing became hurried, lungs burning. Sound drowned out into a seamless blend of breathing and the thumping of my heartbeat. I looked up from the ground to look at the squad. They started waving us backwards, what?_

_I blinked._

_It seemed like I closed my eyes for an hours. Ringing. I heard ringing. Heat zinging my arms and neck, zipping right by my ear. Knocking. I opened my eyes to see the Marines in my squad laying on the ground. Knocking, and knocking again._

I snapped my eyes open. Sweat pouring down my face and body, room pitch black with rays of light coming from the boarded-up windows. Cool air stung my skin and the memory just seemed like a very bad nightmare, burned into head. I knew it wasn't. I heard knocking on the door, the very one that woke me up. I grumbled and walked towards the door.

"Staff Sergeant Micheal Durst?" a young and red faced soldier asked, he looked like he spent his entire career in the office.

"Yeah?" I asked squinting my eyes to shut the powerful flood lights out.

"You're needed at the CP," he looked down my body and chuckled, "put some clothes on, the boss isn't going to be to happy."

"Yeah, yeah..." I looked down to find my body still half naked, he must be a POG or People Other than Grunt.

I went to my bed, grabbed the cleaned rifle, pistol, a spare tee, my plate carrier and helmet. Quickly donning the shirt and plate carrier, I hopped out of the small residence house and followed the soldier. That memory ended tragically. It was my first battle but not necessarily my first death. After the blackout, I found three of my Marine brothers dead. One from Bravo and two from Charlie. The mortar had fired just as we started to run. My adrenaline was pumping and I didn't hear the whistling of the mortar round. Sergeant O'Connor screamed at me to get back, I didn't hear him. I saw him lying on top of a seventeen year old Marine, the youngster was lucky to have a eighty kilogram man protecting him from shrapnel. I could still remember his bloodshot eyes, blood pouring out of his ears and body from the explosion.

One of the three dead Marines started screaming again. He was missing an arm, a leg and blood poured out of his mouth in the form of sticky red bubbles. It felt animalistic, like a need to survive. Simmons ran to him and pulled him back towards us in lull of the battle. He screamed the entire way. I remember picking up the scorching hot metal of the radiophone and pressing it into my ear. The metal burning and zinging the flesh. My arms pulling out his blowout kit and taking off the plate carrier hampering his bleeding as his fluttering eyes locked onto mine.

"Viper Actual, I have two dead Marines. Two T1 casualties, repeat T1 casualties. I need medics sent to my position ASAP, over!" The words of my own voice echoed in my head, hoarse, raw and shaking.

Simmons didn't have time to fuck around on the radio, it was me and a couple of other shocked Marines still left. We waited for over five minutes until a lone Marine medic was sent to me, he was fresh and new also. Gritting my teeth, I saw him bandage and check Sergeant O'Connor with a painstakingly slow process of looking, prodding and wrapping. It was the epitome of battlefield and medical inexperience. By the time he had finished bandaging Sergeant O'Connor, the Marine was still screaming along with the news that a medevac helicopter had been sent our way. Simmons was crouching over the young Marine and pressed his hand over the wounded's mouth. Trying to muffle him and shut out the screams.

"Shut the fuck up, Issac!" he screamed.

Reinforced concrete walls snapped me out of memory lane. Two military police guards had M16A4 rifles held across their chest and were assigned to protect the command post. The young soldier nodded at them and walked right through. I did the same with my weapon unloaded. Bright light forced my eyes into a squint, a powerful combination of LED and flood lights blasted down into the room with a ceiling approximately two stories high. With my eyes adjusting to the light, I could see all the equipment inside. Radios, touchscreen computers, a giant tactical map displayed smack dab in the center of the room and a small section for communications between different divisions. The young soldier's uniform was now illuminated. The digital Army Combat Uniform developed by the United States Army shown dim even against the bright lights along with a small golden single bar pinned to his collar. He was a butter bar, the lowest level of the entire officer ranks and completely inexperienced in combat. The lieutenant spoke to a woman looking at the tactical map, he looked over to me. Her reddish hair was in a complete mess, dark black bags showed signs of no sleep and her face devoid of wrinkles except for some crows feet dancing around both of her eyes. She looked about thirty-ish. Maybe.

"Staff Sergeant Micheal Durst?" She asked, a golden oak leaf pinned to her collar.

"Yes ma'am," I snapped a salute, in which she returned, quickly and sloppily.

"Kelly over there has a call for you from FOB Utah. I'm busy at this moment so ask her any questions you have," I looked over to a brunette sitting by a wall of monitors, radios and phones.

"Major, we've got another IED casualty and a unit pinned down at grid 865 941!" Shit, that was close to my FOB.

"I can't even chat before another IED goes off," she grumbled and quickly jogged to one of the men reporting to her.

"I thought Major General James Brown was in command," I walked over to the communications section with three other officers manning the station.

"Yeah, but he's in some meeting with the other Commanders of the division in region," the Butter Bar Lieutenant replied.

"Excuse me," I stated.

"Oh, sorry," the red haired communications officer said, startled, "Staff Sergeant Micheal Durst?"

"Yeah," I said with a sigh, "it seems like everyone needs to ask me for my name."

"That's the way we do things around here. We don't know someone ask their name over and over until you find the right person. You'll get you used to it," she handed me a phone and chuckled at my annoyance.

"Staff Sergeant Micheal Durst, 3/6 Charlie squad leader."

"Durst? Took these dog faces long enough," it was Lieutenant Able and boy did he sound annoyed.

"What's up, LT?" I asked casually.

"I have news about Hayes's replacement. He goes by the name of Corporal Tory N. Langley, 3rd division, 3rd regiment, 2/3 Alpha. He should be dropping off the helicopter today from Helmand," he coughed and spat, sand mostly clogged our throats at FOB Utah, "Oh, there's more bad news but I'll let you get back until I tell you."

"Is it _that _bad boss?" there was silence, only the humming of the electronics and the chattering of people cut through.

"Depends," he answered.

"Depends? On what?"

"It's not completely bad news for experienced operators like you but might come as a big hit for the first tour virgins," there's not a lot that will upset me, but there's a shitload that will upset the FNGs.

"Well that's it for me, I'll see you back at the FOB in six hours?" I looked at my watch, 0543 Hours.

"Yes sir," I replied.

"Alright Staff, Lieutenant Able out."

"Here," I handed her the phone, "thanks."

"No problem," she quickly answered and returned to her monitors.

I exited the command post and lazily stretched my body in the cold air. It stung at my skin, nipping with small bites. The sun was now about to rise from the horizon. Yellow and red streaks glowing above the high fences blocking off the command post from the rest of the base. It was about 1301 Hours back home, maybe I could call my kids at this hour. It a Saturday, after all. I sighed and walked towards the closest telephone booth.

After the medevac had been called for Sergeant O'Connor, the bird would not arrive until thirty minutes later. He died in my arms just a few minutes before the helicopter arrived from blood loss. The death had impacted me for months, dips of depression, the endless thoughts about how you would die in the field from something meaningless and even the thought that life was meaningless entered my mind. Corporal Simmons would be promoted to Sergeant and I would become leader of Fireteam Alpha. Two months into our next tour, Simmons would be promoted to Staff Sergeant and be placed in 2IC of the platoon while I took over his job. We became close. Ink would become Fireteam Alpha's leader, until that fateful day in Iraq. We were fooling around and Ink thought it would be funny to bag a nearby Iraqi's goat for dinner. We only had Meals Ready to Excrete for the last two months. He crossed the river and up onto a farm field devoid of crops while we watched half submerged in the clear water. He took another step.

_Bang_.

His arms and legs were thrown in both directions and his body turned into a pieces of meat. He died instantly. Out of all my friends who were in the battalion, only Simmons and I were left. Despite all odds, Simmons made the rank of Sergeant Major and was still with the battalion. Where I went onto MARSOC before returning to the unit I served in.

I arrived at the phone booths, there was about ten of them set up next to the mess hall where the early morning had a skeleton crew of British soldiers eating and chatting inside. All ten of the booths were in use by various soldiers, it wasn't surprising at all to me seeing that the base was a host to all soldiers, some from Canada, others as far as Australia. I waited patiently and reached into the armor's admin pouch strapped in the middle of my tactical vest. Inside, it held pens, maps, a small notebook and in a small section of the pouch, a picture of my family and the important $30 AT&T prepaid phone card. Most of the soldiers had gripes about the call quality. Some were dropped calls, others were static filled conversations, at least you could talk to your family. I waited patiently for a booth to open up. Five minutes went by, then ten, then thirty. One hour later and still the booths weren't free. I hoped to talk to my family at least once in this deployment, but it looks like it won't be happening now. There was nothing I could do. I walked back to my residence to see Lieutenant Young walking my way.

"Going some where, Lieutenant?" I asked, stopping in front of my small house.

"Just checking up on you and the Private," she replied.

"We're fine. He's probably not going to get up until eleven," I chuckled, remembering the early days of the squad and when Townsend would not get up despite me throwing cold water on him.

"Then maybe...you would," she started, I knew what she was implying.

"Get some grub with you?" I finished and felt my lips curve into a smirk.

"Yeah," she breathed and averted her eyes as an awkward silence fell upon the lightening new day.

"Well, if you don't want to -" I laughed, the last minutes of silence were to see what the Lieutenant would do. It almost felt like breaking in a new inexperienced CO.

"I'll go with you. I was just seeing what you would do in silence," her face lit up with a smile and my arm flaring with pain.

"That was mean, Staff Sergeant Durst!" she yelled out in the silent dawn, her fist smacking against my right arm just like a best friend would joke around with.

"Come on, let's get some chow in our stomachs."

We walked towards the mess, chatting idly between ourselves. The mess hall was starting to fill up with people, and it was also clear where people sat. British Officers were sitting near a corner where the TV was, while Australian soldiers sat near the tray line, laughing and pointing at the people that passed. It was a pretty big cookhouse, enough to service a thousand or so men. I grabbed a plastic tray and went down the line. Most of the people who were awake were either officers or staff members working the morning shift. The smell of cooked meat and steaming porridge was enough to get me excited. We've been eating out of bags, sleeping in bags and even shitting in bags – I just hope we don't go home in one. I had the usual Marine breakfast, triple helpings of bacon, eggs, toast and a side dish of brownies. Lots of it. I asked for a plastic bag too to bring home to the teenagers. The food made it look like I had a pile of meat on my tray. We sat down in the vacant mid section of the mess hall, nobody was here except for the few officers and non-coms sipping coffee, reading newspapers and books.

"So, you haven't really told me about yourself," I said pinning my fork into the mountain of protein and fat.

"Why do I have to yell you anything?" Olivia asked, gently cutting a piece of her steak. It looked like her knife wasn't even grazing the meat itself.

"You're not going to cut that in this lifetime are you?" she scowled and proceeded to slice the cooked beef with renewed vigor.

"You Yankees are so barbaric," she breathed and sat back, defeated.

"Are the Brits that scared of hurting their food?" I laughed swallowing a mouth full of eggs and toast.

I heard a clatter of plates on our table. Neither Olivia nor I had an accident with our plates. I turned around to see a fairly bulky man with two of his friends behind him. They looked like American Airborne troopers and not the kinds that would keep in line, either. He had a single chevron on his velcro tab and a tattoo with the words 'rendezvous with destiny' above an eagle on his bicep. He had a small sneer on his face, I didn't like it at all. I found it rather annoying.

"This is our seat," it was a heavy-set voice.

"Sorry, we'll move," Olivia said with a monotone voice, silence fell upon the entire mess hall as the paratrooper's hand slapped the cold metal.

"You sat down'er, you have to pay some compensation," his accent was southern and it looks like he was picking a fight since he hasn't been in one.

"We don't want a fight," I breathed, getting up from my seat.

"You just got yer self in one," the paratrooper was at least a head taller than I was, his big meaty hands pushing me back.

"Micheal, let's just...go," I stood my ground watching the paratrooper look back at his friend.

"Look, his girlfriend's telling him to fuck off. Ha!" they laughed while the crowd watched on, I was getting pissed.

"Hey trooper," I said without emotion.

"What? Are you still -" the paratrooper's words were stifled by fingers pressing into his trachea.

"Holy shit! Bass!" his friends yelled.

I squeezed my fingers into his throat just for a second to make my point. His eyes bulged out of his eyes as if they were going to pop out and he made some sort of gurgling sound from his mouth. Two hands gripped my arm, trying to yank it away. I released my grip, the paratrooper reaching for his throat coughing and cursing me at the same time. He was a head taller, much heavier and stronger. Size and power was not everything. I blinked. One moment I saw him still gripping the table's side. The next was a blurry mess of colors. I had been hit. Training helped me smack my head back towards the attacker, my fists instinctively coming up to my head. His mouth moved but I heard nothing except for the sounds of breathing and the constant beating of my heart echoed in my head. He was probably insulting and taunting me anyway. One of his hands waved for me to come at him –and come at him I did. My right fist lashed out finding hard bone, pain exploding from my arm. Fuck, this guy had the head of a T-Rex. He recoiled from the blow, stepping back and staggered towards his friends. Blood dripped down the left side of his face, falling onto the brow and into his eye. Adrenaline shot through me, I felt lightheaded, dizzy, but it felt so good. My lips curled, I could feel a snarl vibrating my vocal cords and escaping my mouth. The paratrooper locked eyes with me, his mouth opening to scream a war cry. He did not want to lose face. Running towards me, he threw a fist aimed at my chest. I sidestepped and dodged the blow. Wrapping my hands around his arm, my legs had locked around his neck into a chokehold. I felt his body impact the ground with a thud and his arms stinging my legs with every punch. A slight tap on the arm forced me to look up. There was Olivia with her blonde hair brushing against my face, it tickled and I felt like sneezing. I broke the hold and stood up. The taste of metal entered my mouth. Pain and dull throbbing came from the left side of my forehead. I touched the skin and saw fresh red blood. At least he managed to hurt me, I scoffed at the thought.

"Stand down!" sound suddenly came back in the form of a roaring, commanding voice.

"Are you okay?" Olivia asked from behind me.

"Just a small cut," I breathed seeing the paratrooper on the ground, cuts from my finger on his throat, blood pouring down his face from my punch and his face red with exhaustion.

"What the fuck did you do now, Private Hamilton Bass?" an older Airborne paratrooper screamed, three chevrons pinned to his collar.

"Sarge, he was just trying to reclaim the table -" one of the paratroopers started just to be cut off.

"I don't give a fuck what you were doing! Get him to the infirmary now!" he turned towards me his eyes full of anger.

"And you! Who the fuck are you to mess with the 101st Airborne?" he screamed at my face, he didn't fool me.

"Jarhead, huh?" he scoffed.

"Maybe you should speak to someone above your paygrade with a bit more respect," I growled, he looked at my collar.

"Oh. Sorry... Staff," he whispered with new found humility.

"What did you do to put him in that state anyway?" I looked at Olivia who procured a first-aid kit.

"MARSOC, Force Recon," I replied and winced as Olivia pressed cotton pads drenched with alcohol onto the wound.

"Well let me get this clear, Jarhead," he growled fearlessly.

"If you fuck with one of my men again, they'll be high hell to pay. Got it?" I snorted.

"Sure. Keep your man out of trouble. If not, you'll end up like him. Bleeding," he turned around and stormed off, grumbling.

I plopped down onto the metal chair and let out a small sigh. Nothing like a small scrimmage to pass the days in the sands by. Another sting sensation before I felt soft material on my forehead.

"That was amazing," Olivia said with a big smile, finishing her wound dressing.

"What, you don't see this everyday here?" I asked and received a no.

"It's usually pretty quiet. Those guys don't sit here, either. I think they just wanted pick on you because you Marines looked scrawny," she smiled.

"For such a pain in the ass like you, shouldn't you be in the field or something?" I asked and resumed eating.

"I will be in a week or two," she replied and resumed cutting her steak.

"Really? Huh, I'll be back in the states then."

There was a silent pause, awkward but at the same time there was anticipation of a reply. There was no reply from her as I glanced at her to see her eyes avert mine. She stood up and went to go put her dish away, with a half cut steak. Things just got really awkward, I should break the ice once again. I had finished my breakfast and ripped open a plastic packet the brownie came in. Olivia came back with two foam cups. I took a bite of the fat and sugar filled desert. An overload of sensations filled my mouth, sweet, sugary and above all sticky almost like a goop of cement. The goop slid down into my throat and partially blocked my throat forming a lump of unmoving delicious delight. I grabbed the cup Olivia had bought me and lifted it to my lip. Burning liquid seared my tongue burning it and then proceeded to scorch it's way down my esophagus, but at least it cleared the fucking killer brownie.

"Fuck, this shit is hot," I growled feeling the lump slowly squirming it's way down my stomach.

"You know that _is _coffee right Yank?" Olivia said with a small giggle.

"Whatever. I don't need some lecture from an inexperienced POG," I replied and grabbed the cup and sipping the hot liquid, my tongue was completely numb.

"I might be a POG but at least I'm twenty five with two years of combat experience!" she retorted.

"Twenty five? Ha!" I laughed, getting up from my seat. It was time to go wake up Townsend.

"I'm twenty eight with ten years of operational experience. Try to top that two-time wonder," Two time wonder, two years of experience with the rank of second lieutenant.

"Twenty eight? I'm sure you have it all down." I sighed, that put a dampener on my mood.

"Not really," I breathed.

"What do you mean not really? You've been in the Marines for ten years! That's a lot of bloody time spent in the service," she quipped as we approached the temporary house Townsend and I lived in.

"Well," I took a deep breath, "my wife left me with my children just before I went on tour. We were still madly in love and I guess one day... she couldn't take it."

"Oh," she whispered and averted her eyes, "I'm sorry I didn't mean to -"

"It's fine. What's happened, happened. No need to worry about the past," I said with a smile.

"It's been fun this past day Lieutenant, I don't think we'll ever cross paths again. Good luck and may the seas be calm," I extended my hand.

"You too Yank, stay safe," she replied and grabbed my hand.

She shook it lightly, her hands were soft and felt like the bottom of a baby's ass. Mine on the other hand felt like it was chafing against her hand. The farewell was bittersweet, the British flight nurse walking away and towards the hospital. She only looked back once to check if I was still watching. I will always watch her walk away. Like a ghost, she appeared into my and just as fast disappeared out of it. I stopped and decided to take a moment to enjoy the view. After we ship back out to Utah, I won't get another chance. Especially when we're racing towards the center of a town or an enemy with hot lead zipping around us. The sun had perched itself high among the residence housing's roof and rained down rays of light around them in a heavenly aura. Dust swirled in the stilled wind as I contemplated my thoughts. I knew this much, I was never meant to be living a life of luxury. Those were for people who could afford to cope with the physical stress of society. I had no such intentions, I was a warrior at heart and I belonged to the Corps. I made it this far and I would not go back to the life of luxury my parents had raised me in. Either alive or in a body bag. With a small sigh of mental exhaustion, I walked inside the house. Even with this winding down for one day, there was still a lot going through my head.

Townsend was curled up in his bed with a blanket half covering his torso. His feet poked out of the fabric and drool dripped down the corner of his mouth. It was a disappointing sight. Six months in this country and surviving in a place where everyone wants to skin your scalp and place it on for show, here he was sleeping like he did at his own house. Not everyone could be transformed into a killing machine the Marine Corps needed you to be. I screamed for him to wake up, not once or twice, but four times. That was my limit. I walked out of the room with a bucket I had gotten from the basement/storage compartment of the housing. Inside the bathing room, I twisted open a faucet to see chilling cold water stream out from the brand new metal tap. The bathing room or sausage house as my men called it, was filled with little metal stalls and individual shower heads along with lockers for everyone to use. It was just the morning and the room was ripe with bare ass men sauntering around with their dicks out in the open for everyone to see. I didn't care, I lost my privacy during wartime to the Corps a long time ago. I stepped back into the room to see Townsend snort and wipe the drool away from his mouth before resuming his sleep.

"Wake up honey, it's time for fucking PT training," I growled and dumped the bucket over his entire bed.

"Fuck!" he yelped falling out of the bed, landing on the floor with a painful thump.

"Good morning, Marine. Welcome back to Afghanistan. Now, get your sorry ass to the baths and meet me at the helipad in half an hour while I go pick up Hayes's replacement," he groaned and slowly got to his feet, his body soaked with chilling water.

I dumped the bucket back where it was found and grabbed my jacket along with the assault pack that I had came here with. I was prepared to leave. The base was huge with hangars, barracks, helipads and a variety of service stores. The rumbling of C-130 Hercules and C-5 Galaxy transport aircraft thundered in the sky, dust was being kicked up by a fast moving breeze and the streets were flooded with vehicles and personnel. It was hard to find the transport helipad as the medevac pad was stationed close to the hospital for ease of transport and speed. The passing British Airmen pointed me towards the giant airfield at the northern end of the base. Kerosene stank the air and the roaring of jet engines shattered the silence, heat emanated from everywhere. Standing near the helipad was not a good idea since it was a few hundred meters away from the runway. I watched a C-5 Galaxy bank left over the base before taking a wide turn to the right, lining itself up for landing. It was the usual evasive maneuver to either evade incoming ground fire and missile locks or to make the giant transport look like one large fucking target. The thumping of helicopter rotorblades caught my attention. One Marine CH-53K Super Stallion transport helicopter was lumbering slowly towards the helipad. The giant helicopter pitched upwards, flaring before they landed. Its landing gears touched down onto the tarmac with a small screech before the struts disappeared into the aircraft's body from supporting it's weight. Whirling came from a lowering ramp as the engines were turned off. Two men walked out and over their shoulders were large thick ropes pulling out giant boxes full of supplies. Three more walked out form the helicopter, one of which caught my eye. This Marine had weathered skin, a growing stubble and a multitude of healed scars crisscrossing his face. On his back was an assault pack, duffel bag carried in his left arm and an M16A4 fitted with a MARS ILT Combat Scope and a fore grip in the other. He was walking right towards me.

"Staff Sergeant Micheal Durst?" he asked.

"Yeah, you Corporal Tory Langley?" I replied seeing him placing his bag on the desert ground.

"The one and only, born and raised in Lerwick before me family moved to the United States. I've been in the Corps for four years since then," Tory spoke with a strong Scottish accent as we exchanged hand shakes.

"Shouldn't you be a Sergeant by now?" I asked, waiting for Townsend.

"I essentially am. I was commandin' Charlie squad in my last tour, piece of cake honestly. It's good to be following once in a while though. I'm getting promoted next month after we get back to the States," he explained as I nodded casually waiting for the always late troublemaker.

"They tell you what you're going to be when you sit with us?" he shook his head and dropped his pack onto the concrete floor.

"No. But is it really that bad?" I chuckled.

"If you know how to use a radio. No, not really," I smiled as there was a groan from Langley.

"Really? They shoved me down to bloody radioman from squad leader? That's got to be a new low," he complained as the sounds of thumping once again vibrated the air.

I looked up to see an Army CH-47F banking to land on the helipad, all three minus the one we were on was already occupied. I picked up my bag and waved for Langley to follow me. Just as we stepped off the concrete, the helicopter swooped in to flare before landing. It's twin engines wined in my ears and I could hear the turbines just spinning in their casings. Heat rippled across my entire body, my hearing completely overpowered by the twin rotors. The ramp lowered with the slowing of the rotors. An Army soldier walked down and noticed us standing right next to the helicopter.

"You guys the Marines we're picking up to transport to FOB Utah?" he yelled carrying boxes of what seemed to be batteries and gun lubricants.

"Yeah, we're still missing one man!" I replied as walked past up.

"Don't worry, we have twenty minutes to offload and load up supplies for your FOB," he was now speaking close to a normal voice as the rotors winded down.

"Where the fuck is he?" I grumbled, waiting idly for Townsend.

"Waiting for someone, Staff?" he asked, seemingly carefree.

"Yeah, some chicken shit Marine in Fireteam Charlie. Private Townsend. He's going to be in the fireteam you're apart of. Get used to him," I chuckled and saw him snort in amusement.

"Sorry I'm late!" A voice cut through the background of chatter, engines and explosions, "did I miss something Sarge?"

"This him?" Langley asked with a disgruntled look on his face.

"Who's this mick?" Private Townsend joked and gestured at Langley, who stood at six foot two. Two heads taller than Townsend.

"Watch your sodding mouth lad. Before I knock them teeth out of your mouth," Langley growled, making the smaller man shrink.

"Sorry..." Townsend breathed as my laughter drowned out his voice.

"Townsend, meet Corporal Tory L. Langley. He will be your fireteam squaddie and the one you get all your wisdom from," I introduced, Townsend sticking his hand out courageously.

"Ha!" Langley laughed, "At least he's got some manner and a pair of good ones."

"Nice to meet you," Townsend said loudly with his chest puffed out.

"I hope you can knock some discipline and sense into him," I gestured to the teenager.

"Oh I will," Langley grinned, his smile showing great plans for this Marine.

"I like you, Langley. I really do," I said earning approval from Langley himself.

"Thank you Staff Sergeant," he patted my back, I almost fell flat on my face just from his pat.

"Hey guys," one of the helicopter crew said, "you can board the helo now if you want. We just have to load up just a crate or two and then we'll be off."

"Thanks," I said to him and looked at my Marines, "let's go home."

The three of us walked up the helicopter ramp and placed our bags onto a small cargo net hung above all of our seats. I plopped back on the seat and felt my helmet smashed against the metal bulkhead of the helicopter. The cloth lined seats weren't comfortable and the air inside the helicopter was boiling hot, even more than the outside. Sweat soaked my body and dripped down my face. In front of us, in the cargo area were three giant crates chained down to the floor on movable trolleys that slide down the ramp of the helicopter with some assistance. With military radio headsets covering my ears, they muffled sounds somewhat and protected my eardrums from ear splitting explosions and aircraft noise. The crewmen placed the boxes towards the nose of the aircraft and manned their machine guns on both sides of the passenger doors. Another one took position at the ramp where he mounted the M240G machine gun in it's slot, I just have to think that every single time they had to offload cargo he had to dismantle the eleven kilogram machine gun.

"Everyone ready to set off?" A female voice came through the comms, her head poking from the cockpit of the CH-47F.

I gave her a thumbs-up as she nodded in reply. My head rested against the metal, the high pitch whine of the twin Lycoming T55 turboprop engines driving the giant twin rotors spooling to life. Thumping gradually became louder and more powerful, the aircraft vibrating to the rhythm of the rotorblades. My helmet started to harmonize with the rotors and the shaking lulled me into a calm and sleep started to wash over. I heard the engines roar and the high pitch wine shifting into a new melody. Vibrations started to shake the entire helicopter apart, it felt like the metal was going to vibrate itself into pieces. Through the small portholes I could see the brown dirt, gray tarmac and helicopters melt into white clouds and blue skies. My eyes slowly fluttered close. Darkness enveloped me as sleep whisked me away from the heated bay of the helicopter. The sound of rotors lulling me to sleep. Those rotors sparked a memory, one which was my first command in a special forces group. The mission was FUBAR, an ambush and five days of surviving, completing the objective without support and getting back home with everyone.


	4. Chapter 4: Base Defense

**Author's Note: Here's the next installment of Green Team. It's going to be a bit slow for the next chapter, but bear with me. I need to introduce the key players before 3/6 Charlie goes home. I'm moving house also, so the updates are going to be a bit slower. And again, please read and review.**

* * *

Green Team

September 15th, 2014

Staff Sergeant Michael "Dust" Durst

Afghanistan

1152 Hours

_Darkness. It was the MARSOC's special talent to be inserted during the darkness of the night. Pitch black conditions and complete stealth was paramount. A giant lumbering MH-47G, piloted by men from the 160__th__ Special Operations Air Regiment, was not exactly stealth. It was loud, it was unwieldy but it was efficient at what it was designed for. To drop soldiers in deep behind enemy lines. That's why we were inserting thirty kilometers from the objective. I sat with four men in the passenger bay and waited for our chance to run out the rear ramp of the helicopter. _

_The humming of the engine and the freezing cold air of the night kept us company while we crossed the wide mountains of Iraq Kurdistan, near the town of Duhok. Our mission was simple, do a night reconnaissance of the mountains and search for an HVT (High Value Target) by the name of Barzan Abd al-Ghafur Sulayman Majid or as we liked to call him 'The Queen of Diamonds'. Majid was the command of the Special Republic Guards and we had been tipped by an unidentified source that he was hiding within a five hundred kilometer radius of the town itself. Once we had a visual confirmation of him at a location, SEAL teams and Green Berets would be called in to terminate him. _

_It was a dirty job. I didn't care, I was there for the men and the adrenaline. We operated more like Force Recon units where we have four soldiers being commanded by one Sergeant. That was me Sergeant Micheal 'Dust' Durst. MARSOC would usually has fifteen men in one Marine Special Operations Team (MSOT) and commanded by a Captain. We were just doing basic reconnaissance. Our lineage was from Recon and we were hand picked for the job._

"_Five minutes!" the pilot yelled from the front seat._

_I flashed my men five fingers. They nodded back in response. We checked our equipment to make sure it was running at one hundred and ten percent, no more, no less or else things would start to break. And we Marines break shit, often. The FN Mk 17 SCAR with it's khaki paint coat was scratched, rubbed down and worn. In the dark night, it just looked like a large piece of metal in the vague shape of a gun. Fitted to the underside of the rifle was an underslung Mk 13 Mod 0 grenade launcher equally as scratched up as the SCAR itself. The HK Mk 23 pistol sat snugly in the chest hostler strapped to the vest, it was brand spanking new. So new that this was the first exposure the pistol would have to the mountainous environment. Wither it'll work or jam was yet to be told._

_Clacks reported to me that my team was going through their final checks. Sitting next to me, Bag was checking his M249 machine gun and yanked back the charging handle to see a bullet eject from the weapon. Bag was the team's demolition specialist along with being a force reconnaissance member. His nickname was from an MRE meal in which he tried to turn into a hot water bomb by overloading it with water and sealing the bag. The bag did explode, but in a spectacular goop of melted plastic onto his arms. He still bears the burned scars to this day. _

_W-GAF, or Gaf as we call him, checked his M39 Designated Marksman Rifle fitted with a silencer. Who gives a fuck or W-GAF got his name from using C4 to destroy a tank on the practice range. The Drill Instructor for MARSOC training had ordered us to wire up old M60 Patton tanks. All of them except one was a dud. Gaf wired up the operational one, walked back to the bunker and readied the det (detonation) cords. Before the Drill Instructor could yell for him to stop, he pushed the button and blew the Veteran tank from the Yom Kippur sky high. After much degradation and humiliation from the Drill Instructor, he proceeded to say, 'Who gives a fuck?' Since then, the phrase had earned him the nickname and became his catch phrase._

_Combo turned on the AN/PAS-13B Thermal Weapon Sight fitted to his HK417 with a silencer twisted tight at the end of the barrel. Combo was my team's navigator and tracker, his nickname came from his love of Bacon, Egg and Cheese Croissan'wich combo meal on the Burger King menu. Every single day, he would go to town and get burger and still be able to maintain his body with all the training the MARSOC officers manage to dish out on us. One day we were coming up with nicknames and someone just called him Combo, it stuck just like cheese._

"_Three minutes!" the pilot warned once again._

"_Go to red!" I screamed out, both transmitting on the team's radio channel and my voice vibrating inside the passenger bay._

"_Hey Dust," Gaf said, holding on to a small hand rail bolted onto the top of the passenger bay's ceiling._

"_Yeah?" I asked standing right behind him in the dim red light._

"_You think something's going to go wrong?" he seemed on edge, nervous almost and our guts almost never lie._

"_If something might go wrong, everything will go wrong," I said with a small chuckle, "plus, it never rains in the Marines but it rains on the Marines."_

"_Oorah," Combo and Bag said looking back with a small grin on their faces._

"_Two minutes!" the pilot screamed into our headsets, "Five hundred feet AGL, flaring to land."_

_I felt a surge of power from the engines and the helicopter started shudder uncontrollably. The crewman manning the machine gun on the ramp moved to a console to his left. My body felt drawn toward the back of the ramp, the metal slab hissed and slowly lowered to reveal nothing but pitch black darkness. Twisting a knob on my AN/PVS-14 Night Vision Scope, I prepared myself to charge into the unknown. A jolt shook the Chinook for a few seconds. _

_The light flashed green._

"_Go, go, go!" the machine gunner at the ramp yelled from the console bolted the aircraft's skin._

_Gaf and Combo rushed into the darkness before I followed them. I felt my feet leave the metal deck and stomp on fresh ground. Running at an angle from the Chinook's engine, the heat was strong enough to boil and burn anyone standing behind it. Even though we were leaving at an angle, the engine heat still sizzled the back of my neck with boiling hot fumes. I lifted my rifle until the night sight cut into my vision. _

_The area in front of me became green tinted instead of a murky darkness of nothing. Trees lined the area in front of us and obscured all lines of sight while the ground beside me was a good three hundred meter drop from the cliff. The MH-47G was teetering over the cliff edge in a pinnacle landing where only the rear wheels touched the ground along with the ramp. A few seconds later, I heard the groan of metal and the high-pitched scream of engines trying to lift the heavy Chinook off the ground._

"_Contact left, eleven o'clock! Flash, looks like an RPG round. Beware, Nightstalker Six!" Combo yelled into the radio, a loud **bang** and the sound of denting metal exploded from behind me._

"_Nightstalker Six, Nightstalker Six, we have been hit. Mayday, mayday, we have been hit. Requesting immediate medevac at grids 983 -" the pilot's voice disappeared in a loud crash of noise._

_The sounds of engines slowly whined down as rock hitting metal echoed throughout the entire mountainside. The screeching of the rotorblades being stripped from the rotor head sent a chill up my spine before one final big **bang** silenced the helicopter. _

_Silence crept in quickly after. _

_My eyes darting between dark shapes sheltered by the clouds smother the moonlight twisted and contorted. What I thought was an enemy became a tree and what I thought was a rock became a bush. Pitch darkness turned common sense into something so unusual it was called unconventional warfare. Buzzing from insects quickly scuttled the silence and the smell of kerosene rose from behind me filling my nose with a musky scent. Sweat dripped down my helmet as we surveyed the area before we moved on. One bright green tracer zipped across our heads, I had to move my team out of the LZ and fast._

"_Alright, let's move it out of the killbox and into the trees. Fast," I whispered hearing the boots crunching on dirt._

"_Ironhide One, Overlord Actual, interrogative, what is the status of Nightstalker Six? Over," the warped voice buzzing in my headset, my team taking cover in a small forest._

"_Overlord Actual, Ironhide One, Nightstalker Six's status is unknown, how copy?" I replied._

"_Roger that Ironhide One, continue with mission. Gunships and RESCAP helos are inbound from Baghdad. ETA one hundred and thirty mikes. Over," I did not like the sound of that._

"_We can't just leave them there," Bag hissed just slight behind me and to my left._

"_Negative, we will not continue with current mission until pilots have been casevaced from current AO. Over," I replied seeing something move, the moon coming out from behind the clouds._

"_That is a no go Ironhide, you will return to mission objectives. Over!" his voice harsh, unrelenting and unforgiving. Something was treading into our territory._

"_Silence, silence, silence," I quickly whispered and ordered the radios to cease all transmissions._

_The wind started to blow at the trees. Leaves, twigs and dirt flew into my face and leaving small stinging bites. I heard something snap. Wood. My eyes immediately darted to the direction in came from. Directly behind me, I lifted my sight until I could the green glow of the night vision. _

_I heard someone yelp in pain, the sound of wood whipping through the air just to end with a dull thud. I saw him. Green coat, lighter shade of green from his shirt and pants along with an AK-47 pointed down towards the ground. I swept the rifle left and saw three other men encroaching towards our position. My team knew that they would not open fire until I did, unless they were in serious and immediate danger. I returned to the man in front of me. He was sweating from the anticipation of a firefight and wore a long beard from living in caves for so long. I calmed myself and started to pull the trigger. The man sauntered towards us until he noticed something, his eyes squinting._

_**Crack**._

_His head snapped back violently as his body slumped into the ground. I snapped my rifle towards the other three targets just to see them fall into the ground from Combo's HK416, his rifle spitting out bullets without the usual distinctive crack of its unsilenced brother. A volley of automatic machine gun fire erupted from behind me as red tracers zipped across the small forest. _

_Bag was doing his job – effectively. _

_I heard the snap of Gaf's bullets. His weapon took the same rounds mine did and the bullet had a distinctive pitch to it as it passed through the sound barrier. Seconds passed by before the mountain side became quiet again and the lull of the firefight overtook the enemy's frantic scramble to counter our fire. They were well disciplined and nothing had erupted to give away their position. I waited a few minutes. The earth beneath me started to shake and rumble. The sound of thumping filled my ears and blistering hot heat boiled my skin. I felt something knocking against my helmet._

* * *

I opened my eyes to see a crewman knock at my helmet to wake me up. He nodded before looking over to my right. Langley was already awake and alert, he was checking his rifle and gear to make sure it was ready for transport. Townsend was still knocked out and was drooling on the seat next to him. His rifle was propped up against his face and the barrel pressed onto his cheek. I looked back to see a figure sitting behind the crates. It was a woman wearing normal civilian clothing with military body armor strapped onto her. A pistol holster held what looked like a Sig Sauer SP 2022 and a small tag read SIS (Secret Intelligence Service), why was a British intelligence officer heading with us to an American base? I shrugged off the thought, it was better not to be curious about things above my paygrade. I looked at the crewmen to see his mouth moving.

"What?" I yelled leaning closer to him.

"I said, get your boy awake! We're about to land in ten mikes," he screamed back as I nodded and gave him a thumbs-up.

"Hey Townsend!" I screamed seeing the machine gunner snort and twitch before going back to his snoring.

"Langley, give him a wake up call," I ordered seeing the Scottish Marine nod.

"With pleasure Staff Sergeant," he replied and pulled his pistol out.

"Wake up you little wanker!" he yelled and smashed the grip of his pistol into Townsend's helmet. Townsend's eyes snapped open and his hands immediately went to his helmet.

"What the fuck's going on? Are we being hit!" Townsend screamed, his eyes darting around the helicopter.

"No lad, we're about to land. Just calm the fuck down," Langley said with a small chuckle and continued checking his gear.

I looked out the porthole next to me. Mountains covered the entire terrain we were flying over, it looked like green had spilled into the entire valley. Trees, grass and bushes grew abundantly throughout the region. It was not like the arid and dry plains of central Afghanistan, this was where the enemies loved to hide. They blended into the local population but we didn't. FOB Utah got attacked every single day and if we were lucky only twice a week. A few weeks before we were sent to hunt down the fleeing enemy, the base was quiet for days. That was an unwelcome feeling but it gave us a break nonetheless. I spotted some leveled out mountains with a few towns here and there situated at the top. Cows were everywhere and so were the herders. Most of them were friendly but some of them weren't. They didn't cuss at us or anything but just drew a rifle when we would be walking away. Those guys were Taliban spies, they were everywhere.

Then I saw something in the middle a valley with mountains flanking all sides, all roads going around it were full of barbwire and Humvee checkpoints. The base covered most of the valley and was filled with over a thousand Marines. More were being brought in theater as the base expanded. For now, we lived in unair-conditioned huts with hammocks for beds and a mosquito net to protect against bugs. Eight watchtowers surrounded the squarish compound built with walls of hescos and barbwire. Each tower had an M240B machine gun to spit out hot lead and two of eight had M2B Browning machine guns for extra fire power. Two mortar platoons provided fire support to troops patrolling the surrounding area. Depending on the day, the usually fired non-stop until night fell. The Tablian really loved attacking on Tuesdays and Fridays.

I felt the helicopter bank.

"Five mikes until we touchdown!" the crewmember yelled.

I heard the metal skin of the helicopter start to ping with bullets from outside. They metal birds flying around the skies usually attract massive amounts of gunfire from prospective Taliban newcomers. Langley and I paid no heed to the horrifying sound of bullets zipping by the helicopter. Townsend in the meanwhile cowered with his M27 pointed at the back of the ramp, ready to kill anything that ran through. I knew the feeling. Marines were so used to having their fates in their own hands, being in a helicopter and having our fates in the pilot's hands didn't go sit so well with me for the first couple of helicopter rides. I came to trust and respect the dog faces for flying us into combat zones since we used their 160th SOAR units so often.

I heard a crack and stinging from my right cheek. The porthole next to me had been shattered by a lucky bullet and the shrapnel had cut into my cheek. I was starting to get pissed, this was my sixth cut this week. Another bullet had entered the helicopter through one of the passenger doors. This time, it pierced one of the hydraulic systems. Fluid started to spray out from the leaking tube. It was nothing serious since the helicopter had a redundant system built into it. I felt the helicopter pitch backwards, the heavy set belts tying down the cargo strung tense. A quick jolt and a bounce before the front of the helicopter quickly crashed into the ground.

"Sorry about the rough landing!" the female pilot yelled from the cockpit, "we're going to have to stay here for some repairs!"

"No problem!" I screamed back and got up from the seat.

"Holy fuck that was terrifying. I'm glad that's over," Townsend breathed.

"There are worse things out there lad," Langley shrugged on his assault pack.

I pulled on the extended range pack designed for more than six days of operations and walked towards the ramp. The crewman stood by the ramp controls as the rotors whined down to a silent stop. He pushed the button, the ramp lowering with a buzz to reveal a wide area full of brown dirt. Men quickly ran towards the hesco walls with their rifles ready, body armor on and minds alert. The FOB was on full alert and all machine guns were firing. Incoming fire came from all directions, kicking up dust, pinging off metal and shredding wood. The heavy and slow, methodical thump of the M2 Browning sent giant red tracers straight into the mountains surrounding us while the M240B provided suppressive fire. Another group of Marines ran past us, one still in his underwear with flip-flops on, another in a T-shirt and shorts, all of them carrying weapons and wearing full body armor. This was life in a FOB.

"Hey Asshole Alpha!" I heard a voice yell as I stepped off the helicopter, "I need two fucking guys to take up positions at the West Wall! Bullshit Bravo's down one man because of a goddamn sprain!"

It was Sergeant Major Jake Simmons, 2IC (2nd in Command) of Lieutenant Able. He donned a t-shirt, combat trousers and boots. Other than that, he had on body armor and carried his M16 rifle around with him. His loud, booming bass voice distinct above all the high-pitched zings of the incoming fire.

"Fucking hell! Look who it is," Simmons said with a big smile, "Staff Sergeant Micheal Durst. Where the fuck have you been?"

"Recouping at Bastion. Some raghead MIA'ed my arm. Hurts like shit but I'm still alive," I said with a chuckle.

"Well that's good. Two days and you're squad's gone to shit. Corporal Wilkins's trying to keep the fucking lot together, go lend him a hand. He's by the Southern wall," Simmons patted my back before resuming his job.

"Alright, guys. Double time it to Southern wall. It's time to get in the fucking mix," I ordered, pulling out a spare magazine from the backpack as the ones on my vest were empty.

"Oorah! Get some!" the two of them yelled and started to jog after me.

"Wait a sec," I heard Langley whisper, "what is she doing here?"

"Who?" I asked looking in the direction his was.

"Lizzie! Lizzie!" He screamed, I saw no one except for a couple of Marines.

"Langley we need to move. As soon as fucking possible," I ordered.

Langley stood among the rushing traffic of men. He hesitated to move, shuffling a few steps before shaking his head and running after me. We reached the heart of the base with a cross road made of dirt smack dab in the middle. The vehicle depot, command center, civilian housing and mess hall were all inside the center of the FOB. Thick triple layered hesco walls, barbwire and fences surrounded the entire perimeter. We had a total of five LAVs and thirteen Humvees stationed at the FOB. Most were used to ferry supplies to and from the main operation base while the LAVs provided protection for two EOD teams we had on base. The patrolling was done on foot and all action was on foot, unless it was a giant operation where all units were required to partake in. The southern wall was shadowed by three giant mountains. A ravine ran between the biggest mountains with a road leading down to the Shah-i-kot Valley where Operation: Anaconda took place. So far, the United States Army were still battling out with the Taliban for control of the area. We approached the three meter high hesco wall with three full squads hiding behind the cover. I placed my rucksack against the wall and climbed on top of one layer.

"Staff Sergeant!" a voice screamed beside me, "it's nice to see you back in action!"

It was Corporal Wilkins, yelling over the sound of the M2 Browning firing off a few meters behind him.

"It's nice to be back. What's the SITREP?" I screamed back.

"As soon as the helicopter showed up, all fire has been directed towards it! Now that it's on the ground, all fire is focused on us," Wilkins replied, Townsend was hoisted up by his friends and embraced as if they've never seen him in years.

"Townsend you're back!" They said in joy and wrapped their arms around his neck.

"Fuck yeah I'm back!" Townsend replied, giving his mates high-fives with his uninjured hands.

"Hey, you cocksuckers!" I screamed, "it's not a fucking high school reunion, pick up your weapons and fire back!"

"Yes Staff Sergeant!" Private First Class Steven McCullough, Fireteam Alpha's rifleman yelled back.

"Griffin, get your glass out and laze any incoming fire," I ordered seeing him dig into his pouch to produce an unwieldy, tan colored binocular.

"You got it Sarge!" He screamed back.

I racked the M16's bolt to chamber a round into the gun and popped up over cover. Even with the magnifier enlarging the EoTech sight, I could not see where the ragheads were firing from. All I saw were the tracer rounds arcing into the green mountain side and disappearing in a puff of dirt. Only the general direction of the enemy was revealed. I went back to my bag and unzipped a small compartment near the front. Inside housed three individual pockets for the Stag Model 4 M16 rifle upper receiver.

Before the MARSOC days, I had one for each situation, CQB, long range, stealth and versatile. I pulled out the long range upper receiver, broke open the gun, slotted the receiver back into the rifle and locked it in. Equipped with a variable zoom scope, bi-pod and the twenty inch barrel, the rifle now was able to shoot beyond normal engagement ranges with optimal accuracy. I hovered the scope over the general direction of the tracers to see small flashes of light. Deploying the bi-pod to give me much needed stability, I started the trigger pull.

_Bang._

The bullet curved into the mountain side. After one bullet, I had even up on even trying to reach the ragheads. It was like shooting a pea shooter at a rock. What you really needed was some dynamite and that's exactly what I was going to do.

"Griffin, you got the range and direction?" I yelled seeing him nod.

"Our eleven o'clock, bearing one two five at one thousand and fifty three," he replied as I got on the radio.

"Bulldog One, Utah Fire Support, you have a fire mission available for us?" I asked.

"Depends Bulldog One, precise or area?" They replied, I pulled out a portable GPS to triangulate the position.

"Precise," I stated.

"You got your fire mission Bulldog One."

"Fire mission, fire for effect at grid 865 531 28. Make it tight at five mils, destruction. Use HE and Air-Burst rounds for maximum effect, five rounds, coverage," I finished the orders and waited for the mortar pops.

"Utah Fire Support, FFE at grid 865 531 28, tight at five mils, destruction. Mixed HE, air-burst, five rounds, coverage."

"Roger read back correct, send it!" I replied hearing the distinct metallic pops and pings from the mortars inside the FOB over the crackling of machine guns.

Two teardrops arced high in the air in deadly formation. It's screeching and whistle unmistakable from the fire around it. I watched, seeing the rounds curve into the Earth before detonating in a deadly cloud of smoke. Trees snapped, buildings blasted open and the ground peppered with shrapnel from the air-burst munition. I felt the Earth rumble slightly and the shock wave jolting my body backwards. It was nothing like an expedient charge being detonated close to you and dusting off your uniform, making it brand new. Enemy fire from the position was silenced. I peaked over the wall to see bullets still whizzing past my head. Griffin was on top of it, like usual.

"Utah Fire Support, dead fucking center. Good effect on target, Bravo fucking Zulu!" I yelled into the radio.

"Sarge, I got another one at two o'clock, bearing zero two eight at one thousand and eight six," Griffin quickly reported.

"Bulldog One, Utah Fire Support, we have another precise."

"Roger that Bulldog One, ready to fire."

"Fire mission, fire for effect at grid 865 531 14. Make it tight at eight mils, destruction. Same mix, use four rounds, coverage," I said, looking from the GPS.

"FFE at grid 865 531 14, tight eight mils, destruction. Same mix, four rounds, coverage."

"Read back correct," I replied.

"Rounds out."

The rounds impacted the ground with a deafening _bang_. I popped up from behind the barricade to spot the rounds hitting the small village. Clouds of black explosive residue and brown dust hovered the air over the mortar rounds. The area seemed still – right until dim yellow muzzle flashes lit up behind the cloud. Looks like those bastards didn't get hit hard enough.

"Rounds complete."

"Utah Fire Support, rounds did not have any effect. Readjust two degrees left and elevate fifty five meters up," I estimated the adjustment through the scope.

"Readjust two degrees left, up fifty five, same rounds, fire for effect," they quickly replied.

"Rounds out."

I watched the mortar rounds arc overhead for what I hoped was the last time I had to readjust. Another explosion, another cloud of black and brown. The rest of the squad had stopped firing and watched the lethal explosive detonate in the mountain side. A few seconds passed with out a crackle of gun fire. Nothing came from the mountain, it was silenced. For a long while hopefully. We stood watch with full awareness, watching the trees and grass swaying a light breeze. I forgot what it was like to live on a FOB. The electric atmosphere full of tension, fear, anticipation and excitement. We held no affinity for thinking of death as it could come at anytime and in any form. The Marines were happy enough just to spend their daily lives with friends and doing stupid things. I was once like that.

"Good effect on target Utah Fire Support. Looks like they're out of the business for a long while," I reported.

"It's thanks to your spotting Bulldog One. Thanks to you that position is silenced," the radio crackled.

Minutes passed by without incident, then an hour. No real fire was being directed towards the FOB and the usual report of gunfire crackled in the distance. The knot in my stomach had gone away and the adrenaline had worn off. I felt tired, worn and exhausted. Another minute passed by before the base was called of alert and the entire Marine force went back to it's way of life. I packed up the rifle and replaced the upper receiver with the usual versatile configuration I had been using. Shrugging on the pack and hopping off the wall, turning around to address my Marines.

"Hey listen up 3/6 Charlie," I yelled, seeing the group of twenty or so stop talking and look towards me, "I want everyone in the shack by 2115 hours. Understood?"

"Oorah, Staff Sergeant!" they yelled in reply before separating and going their separate ways.

"Hey, Wilkins."

"Yes Sarge?" he asked jogging over to me.

"Meet Corporal Tory Langley, he's our new radio operator. He's got some experience leading a squad so don't be shy to grill him with questions, and don't forget to show him his quarters."

"You got it Staff Sergeant," Wilkins said, shaking hands with the Scotsman.

"Are you 2IC of Durst, lad?" I heard Tory ask.

I kept walking towards the center of the camp to meet up with Simmons and Lieutenant Able. Men slowly shuffled back towards their stations and quarters half dressed, some even in their underwear. The weather in the mountains were much cooler than Camp Bastion. It was hot, but at least not boiling. I spotted a man walking towards the southern wall in the center of the base. He carried an M16 rifle and his uniform along with his face, were caked in dust and sweat. He was not your conventional officer. Many had command styles differing from each others, but his was unique.

Lieutenant Able spent two years of his life in an infantry squad before entering the Marine's School of Infantry to become a squad leader of the Marine's premiere landing force, the Marine Expeditionary Unit. He later was selected to become a commander of the Maritime Special Purpose Force and participated in numerous black operations before going through Officer Candidate School to land a commanding role back in the origins of his roots. Like me, he was a product of 2nd Marines, 6th Regiment. 3/6 Alpha, year 1991. At the age of 42 with a wife and four kids, he was putting a lot on the line to lead a group of teenagers through the valley of death. I had a lot of respect for him and he had a lot of respect for me. It was a small mutual trust between two operators that ensured the both of us, anything would be done and under any circumstances. He stopped just short of the inner perimeter as I walked up to him.

"Lieutenant Able, Staff Sergeant Micheal Durst reporting for duty sir," I nodded in his direction, saluting in the battlefield would reveal him as an officer to an enemy sniper. We wouldn't want that now would we?

"Drop the formalities Mike. We're in theater now and no one's going to eavesdrop on our chatter," Lieutenant Able chuckled, patting me on the back.

"Two former SpecOps commanders in one company? I mean that's one hell of a concoction for a normal infantry battalion."

"Glad to see your arm's in good shape," Lieutenant Able said as Simmons scanned the base for potential punishable Marines.

"It's healing but not fast enough," I replied, ejecting the magazine from my rifle.

"Enough with the banter. Let's get down to business," Lieutenant Able said. All business, just like the guys I worked with, "we're having a squad leader meeting today at 1845 hours. Make sure you be there. This news concerns you and your squad."

"You got it boss," I replied.

"Get some rest. You deserve it. Especially after coming into contact with the ragheads once you touched down," I nodded in reply.

"Catch you on the flip side Durst," Simmons said with a small smile.

"Yeah," I tapped his arm and continued on my way.

My cubical was no bigger than a small bathroom. With just enough space for me to stretch my arms and legs in, I placed the pack and the rifle against the wood reinforced wall. Two pieces of ply wood and a couple of rocks stood between me and shrapnel. It was a grim situation but at least we had a place to sleep in. A hammock suspended off the ground by two metal poles and a mosquito net attached to the netting that covered the entire NCO living space were the only two pieces of furniture I owned on base. Before the netting, the NCOs had nothing to shade their quarters in. The netting was my donation to future Marine Sergeant that would be living here.

Taking off my jacket, I climbed into the hammock and looked up at the blue sky filled with clouds shaped like white cotton candy floating in an endless sea above me. Two fighter jets crossed the skies and a few helicopters loitered in the area. They were presumably called in the support in the ambush or what was after it. I rolled over to see a picture of my children and wife taped up to the wooden walls. With a small sigh, I closed my eyes and lulled myself to sleep. My watch already had an alarm set one hour before the meeting. Life was about to become routine once again.

* * *

_Grey mists turned into clouds and darkness transformed into hills, mountains and forests. Minutes after the failed ambushed we headed down towards the helicopter to save the crew. The path ahead of us was long, rough and filled with three hundred meter drops onto the ground below. We would make within the hour but would the rescue force? The moon had come out from behind the veil of clouds and rays of soft white light cascaded down the mountain path in front of us. The muted crunching of our footsteps and the stillness of the air sent chills up my spine. Was it always this quiet up in the mountains of Iraq? I pushed the thought out of my mind and continued the descent into the dark abyss below us. Frost started to build up on my uniform and a small beard we started to grow from being in theater too long. I could feel the ice stinging my skin through the bundles of hair. My nose started to run and the air entering my lungs cold with pain. The thin atmosphere was hard to breathe in but the pain didn't bother me, nor did the grime rubbing against my skin every time I moved. The radios had gone silent since I told command to shut their traps. We were in enemy territory and even I wasn't sure about the safety of encrypted comms around the Special Republic Guards. _

_I felt the glow of the helicopter's crash bath my exposed forearms in warmth. No matter how miniscule it was, it was still heat. I held up a fist to signal the team to stop and crouched on the mountain trail. The rough rocks pressing in my legs, my limbs thanked me after minutes of walking with thirty kilogram loads on our backs. Not to mention the other twenty already on my chest and arms. The glow came from a small fire at the crash sight. Wither it was fuel or just a survival measure, it was unknown._

_"Gaf, recee the crash site. I want to know what that fire is," I whispered, seeing him nod and lift up his rifle._

"_Combo, give me an estimation on how long it'll take to get to the site."_

"_You got it boss," he whispered back and pulled out a GPS device along with his laminated map._

"_Bag, you're rear guard. Make sure no one is sneaking up behind or above us," I ordered and saw him move off a few feet behind us._

_I turned around and scanned the mountain trail in front of us with my night vision sight. The sloped trail led to a quick drop off into a massive forest, only GPS and a compass could get you out. The only thing standing between us and the crash site were kilometers of thick and unknown forest. It could be booby-trapped or the enemy could have set an ambush for us. Only one thing mattered to me, I needed to get to that helicopter crew before the Iraqis captured them. After they were taken prisoner, they would wish that they would have died in the crash._

"_So Dust," Gaf said looking through his scope, "what's our course of action?"_

"_Split the fireteam into two. You and I will go recon while Bag and Combo secure the site, that way we're hit two birds with one stone."_

"_Shit GPS is on the fritz," Combo growled and switched to his back-up compass._

"_Dust," Gaf called as I looked to the team's marksman._

"_Yeah?"_

"_I think I know what's happening at the crash site," he said with a small sigh, "I don't think you're going to like it."_

"_Just spit it out Gaf. We don't have time for this bullshit," I ordered._

"_The fuel tank is on fire. Crew's got an hour or two before the fire, which is burning around the aircraft, burns the fuel tank and that's the good news." The end of his report quirked my interest._

"_Go on."_

"_We've got enemy hostiles encroaching the position. Bag and Combo will have to clear out the ragheads before they get to the crew," Gaf said as I looked at Bag and Combo._

"_You able to pull that off?" I said with a small smile._

"_Come on Boss, we aren't some chicken shit boy scout unit or Army Infantry," Bag joked as Combo looked back at him._

"_Aren't the two units the same?" We had a short chuckle before the sound turned into silence._

"_Alright," I said after a short sigh, "what's the deal with that estimation?"_

"_Less than forty if Bag and I move at the speed of a force march," he replied._

"_Cool. This is where we separate ways," I stood up and readjusted the straps of my pack._

"_Take care of those dog faces," Gaf said, patting Combo's arm._

"_And you two make sure DEVGRU and Delta get that motherfucker," Combo replied, tapping his helmet._

"_Let's move out," I nodded to Gaf and started to hike up the mountain trail._

_I had only made the decision to split up a few seconds ago, but the numerous thoughts going through my head kept me preoccupied. Being a squad leader had placed a giant burden on my shoulders and my only objective was to get the men home safely any way that I could. If I had to break some rules to do it, I would. _

_Splitting up the already small squad was not the greatest decision. I've lost two men essential to the mission and it only made our combined firepower drop more than half, especially since Bag had the M249 machine gun. And two hundred rounds of non-stop suppressive fire made the difference between life and death. But, our training made up for the loss. We thrived on being out numbered, out gunned and undermanned. _

_Time passed as we started climbing up the mountain. Our lungs were on fire, legs burning and body screaming to stop. Going down was easy, going up where the air was thinner and harder to breathe was not. Gaf and I were panting like dogs before I ordered him to pause on the side of the hill. Sunrise would not be for another five hours, we had time on our side._

_**Crack.**_

_One single gunshot shattered the silence. Another gunshot. Then, a volley. I heard the launch of an RPG thundering past the tops of our heads. The bastards were dug into the top of the mountain. Gaf and I held our breath to see the flash of white piercing light tumble and spiral down towards the crash site. It hit pretty damn close to the wreckage. Like our intel suggested, these guys weren't fucking around like the newcomers._

"_Ironhide One One, Ironhide One Three, come in over," I spoke into the radio._

_There was no reply._

"_Ironhide One One, Ironhide One Three, give me a sitrep over," I spoke once again and looked at Gaf, his face slowly turning pale in the moonlight._

_A pang of dread hit me. What the fuck happened to the two men I worked with for two years? A knot formed in my stomach. My vision turned black as my body became numb. _

_I woke up to find my face buried in the dirt and the dust stinging my lungs with each breath. Gaf was right next to me firing off his rifle into the mountain side. Some recon mission this turned out to be. I forced myself up and dumped the pack on the ground, just to see it tumble down the steep slope and caught on a rock. _

_My first priority was, like my commanding officer used to say, give it to 'em. I lifted the rifle, flicked the safety off and held down the trigger. The grainy green night vision turned into a blinding white flash. The muzzle brake on the gun worked well during the day to hide the orange flame coming from the end of the barrel, but not during night. Pausing to reload, I saw Gaf pull out his pistol to cover me. I assumed he was about to reload his own rifle._

"_Some fucking plan this was," Gaf growled as I pulled out my pistol to cover his reload._

"_Failure of Plan A will directly affect your ability to carry out Plan B," I said with a smile pulling the trigger just to hear the pistol go **click** and the enemy fire intensify._

"_Fuck," I growled pulling the slide back to eject the round and pulled the trigger again._

"_What the fuck are you doing Dust? Are all the rounds in your pistol duds?" Gaf screamed and lifted up his pistol to engage the enemy._

"_I don't fucking know!" I yelled and pulled out the magazine._

_Nothing looked out of place. I picked up the bullets to see a small dent where the firing pin had tried to detonate the cartridge. I tossed the bullet aside and reinserted the magazine. Pulling the slide back, I squeezed the trigger._

_**Bang.**_

_It was about fucking time this thing worked._

_I felt another rumble, this time an explosion. And it wasn't happening in this dream either. It was happening in real life._


	5. Chapter 5: Bad News Briefing

Green Team

September 15th, 2014

Staff Sergeant Michael "Dust" Durst

Forward Operating Base Utah

Konar, Afghanistan

1721 Hours

My eyes snapped open to the sound of roaring fires. Drenched in sweat, confused and just having woken up from another nightmare of a memory, I grabbed my armored vest and helmet. With trained precision, I strapped on the buckles and snatched the rifle propped up against the ply wood wall before running out of the NCO quarters. What the fuck was going on?

Just across from the NCO quarters were the grunt's living space. It was about three times the size of the NCO's, for every Sergeant there were ten Marines. That included the ones second-in-command of the officers and working in staff positions. They lived in a shared cubicle the size of a living room with each fireteam having a room to their own. Marines ran out with unstrapped helmets and fumbled with their rifles. I saw Corporal Wilkins run out, slapping a magazine into the M16A4 rifle. The rest of the squad was behind him, some strapping on their helmets and others messing with their rifle. At least some of them were shaping into Marines.

"What's happening?" I screamed.

"Don't know Staff Sergeant!" Wilkins replied.

"Calm down," I heard a voice, it was Simmons.

"Shouldn't you be screaming at gagglefuck Marines?" I asked receiving a smile from Simmons.

"Thought I'd catch the squad leaders before they go to their defense posts. Save me some time," he replied.

"What's the big deal, Jake?" Sergeant O'Brien, Alpha's squad leader asked.

"It's just some ammo premature detonation. No one's hurt but the base is a fucking goat rodeo right now," Simmons explained.

Upon hearing the word, the Marines groaned and pulled of their helmets. Many were just shuffling back into their sleeping bags while the NCOs started to talk amongst each other.

"You fuckheads!" Simmons screamed at the Marines, "wear your brain buckets until you get inside the god damn barn!"

"Yes Sergeant Major," the Marine groaned as he turned towards us, a force of nine Sergeants commanding squads of three platoons.

"Boss wants us in the meeting room now. He's accelerating the time since we're leaving within seven days. A lot of shit needs to be wrapped up here," Simmons ordered.

"You got it Top," I replied and walked with the group of NCOs towards the heart of the FOB.

Since day one, the FOB had been a hasty construction by the Navy Seabees in an attempt to land Marines in the United States Army's zone of control. The dog faces were losing influence due to new rules placed in by the brass concerning civilian lives. We weren't much better at winning the hearts and minds of the locals than the Army was, but at least our men were coming back from operations in one piece.

The British views on Operation: Courageous Restraint were bitter. They couldn't fire back unless they positively identified the enemy or PID. When we were on operations with them, they would call us savages and barbarians due to no restraints our rules of engagement. Our commanding officer, Colonel William Jurney had made it his mission to get all of his men back in one piece. With restrictions coming in from the brass during the early phases of the war, more lives had been lost to PID'ing and weapons hold procedures. He had enough with the red tape and told us to engage anything that was assumed hostile but not to fire on those that weren't firing back. So far, it was working.

Inside the heart of the FOB or the 'fortress' as my men called it, were four command posts, an array of mess halls, communication hubs and combat information centers to coordinate with both Marine, Army and international forces. Lieutenant Able's post was next to a communications center and was distinguished by it's large Native American head inside the star with the words Teufel Hunden (Devil Dogs) hung at the front of the tent. Inside were half a dozen chairs along with a mock-up of the actual valley we were in and it's surroundings. Lieutenant Able stood at the front with a blackboard, conversing with Captain Bloomsbury who was, compared to our Lieutenant, a young Captain at the age of 35. The two looked up from their notebooks and turned to us.

"Grab a seat gentlemen," Captain Bloomsbury said quickly before returning to Lieutenant Able.

"Seven more days in this shit hole and we're gone," Sergeant McCall, Bravo's squad leader, said with a chuckle of happiness.

"Alright, listen up," Lieutenant Able said, reading from his notebook, "we've got changes to our schedule today."

"Mike Company has received casualties to their squads from an IED. What does this have to do with us? We've been bumped up to serve double dishes of patrols. Since we're K Company, we're sending out all of our squads along with Lima to surrounding areas to secure the area. Like our role states: locate, close with and destroy the enemy by fire and maneuver.

Sorry Durst, you're squads going to be in the mix with the rest of us today," I let out a small chuckle.

"No rest for the weary Lieutenant," I replied pulling out a small notebook to jot down mission notes.

"Good to see you're still in high spirits," he paused and pulled out a small civilian laser point, "on the to briefing."

"Tomorrow dawn at 0330 Hours, we gear up and prepare to move out with Lima Company. Alpha, you're getting Lima's Recon attached to your squad and Bravo, you're getting Lima's Alpha," Lieutenant Able looked up at me from his notebook.

"I'm assigning Charlie a liaison from the British SIS and you'll be taking Lima's fresh Weapons Platoon Charlie squad with you. You think you can handle that?"

"No problem Lieutenant. You say jump, I say how high," I grinned at the commander.

"Anyways, Alpha's going to patrol through the northern most village through ASR (Auxiliary Supply Road) Mozart. Go up and into the valley but don't go through the other side. That's Dutch territory, not ours, we don't need to mess with their plans. As for Bravo, you'll take it to the east and go through ASR Beethoven. The Army's brass gave us permission to go into the valley so patrol over the mountain and meet up with the Army Airborne.

I'm giving Charlie the pleasure of having first hand experience with MSR (Main Supply Road) Bach. I'm sure the new replacements will have a fun time sweeping the road for IEDs and interacting with the locals. Be sure to visit the village of Qualat, Kholm and Farah. I'm sure the new British SIS agent would like to learn more about the region. Loop back to Utah once you've reached the valley leading into the Shah-i-kot valley, we wouldn't want to be stepping on the Army's toes now would we?" Lieutenant Able finished, marking out the patrol routes on the map and looked back up at us.

"Questions?" He asked.

Sergeant O'Brien raised his hand.

"What's the ROE according to the patrol? Since we're closing down IEDs and the such, should we PID enemies?" Sergeant O'Brien asked.

"Good question," Lieutenant Able said, "we're keeping the ROE the same. Make sure the enemy is an enemy and only shoot when fired upon. This PID bullshit is getting troops killed, so PID them after you put a couple rounds their way."

"Roger that sir," Sergeant O'Brien nodded.

"Next."

No one raised their hands, their questions seemed to be answered.

"Alright then. Keep your radios on channel six and make sure you have them on at all times," he sighed, "dismissed."

I stood up to leave when Lieutenant Able walked towards me and gestured for me to talk with Captain Bloomsbury. The two looked a bit gloomy, their faces caked with dirt along with dark bags under their eyes showing signs of sleep deprivation. I hadn't noticed it at first but seeing their backs hunched and fluttering eyelids, I knew.

"I have the news Staff Sergeant," Captain Bloomsbury said with a small yawn.

"Yes sir?" I asked.

"While the 6th Marine Regiment leaves, your squad and weapons platoon is going to be supplementing the first British force that's going to be taking control of this base. All Marines will have been pulled out from this region by the end of this year," Captain Bloomsbury sighed and glanced at Lieutenant Able's stoic face, "I'm sorry but you got the short end of the stick."

"No problem sir," I said with a reassuring nod, "we'll take up the slack. I'm not sure the men won't take it well but I'll make them understand."

"That's good to hear. But, the British are running short due to their casualties they suffered in training. Some freak detonation that took out half the squad. They're all in one piece but they've got some internal bleeding. Brass estimates about another month in-theater before they replace you guys," Captain Bloomsbury explained.

"I'll take care of it sir," I replied once more before Lieutenant Able gave me a small nod.

"Lieutenant," I said.

"Staff Sergeant," he replied with a small smile.

I exited the tent and headed for the armory to commission the patrol's ammunition count. Flipping through the pages, I found my unit's weapons count. Ten M16 and M4 style rifles, four M27 IARs, a mix of .45 caliber and 9mm pistols. A huge laundry list for me to go through and it was one of the squad leader's responsibilities to requisition ammunition for the men. The armory was a small shed with a large protected backyard fitted with reinforced steel bunkers and an underground storage rack for mortar and missile rounds. Three young Marines were usually on rotation, one of which I knew well. I gave him the same order and he told me it was going to be ready by midnight.

Heading towards my quarters, I passed the firing range on the western side of base. Two hundred meters of space was available and fenced off for Marines to either release steam or practice their marksmanship skills. One Marine caught my eye, Corporal Sam Griffin was on the range and fired his M16A3 rifle at a furious rate. All of his shots impacted the target at two hundred meters with a satisfying and metallic _ping_. His eye was glued to the Bushnell scope and the front of his rifle supported by a bi-pod.

He was one of the more senior and professional Marines in the squad. At twenty five years old with two children and another one on the way, he tried hard to provide for his family. His former life as a police corporal didn't fit what he thought he was going to be doing for the rest of his life, so he quit and joined the Marines. His former police training and superior skills at motivating his men propelled him to graduate with honors and was rewarded with the rank of Corporal in the Marines. He wanted to go beyond infantry and knowing I was a Scout Sniper, he asked me to train him for selection.

"Whaling on the target. But, a bit sloppy on the trigger pull," I observed walking up to the fireteam leader.

"Sorry Sarge, just wanted to see how fast I could double tap that target with this standard issue rifle," he apologized as I pulled out my own rifle.

I rested the trigger guard on my left hand and held the stock close to my shoulder. With slow, precise trigger pull, I demolished the target in a short one – two double tap.

"What did I say Griffin?" I let out a small sigh.

"Fast is dead, slow is smooth and smooth is slow," he repeated the line I told him a million times before.

"Tell you what," I said unloading my rifle and putting it on safe, "you hit a target at six hundred meters and I'll lend you my M40A5 to prepare for selection."

"You're on Staff Sergeant," Griffin grinned as he shook my hand to seal the deal.

"Oh," I said, remembering something I needed to tell one of my men, "tell everyone in the squad that the meeting's been moved up to 1855 Hours. I just got fresh intel from Captain Bloomsbury."

"You got it Staff Sergeant," he nodded as I walked out from the firing range.

Another thing marked off my to-do list. What else was there? I glanced down at my notes: Meet SIS Agent, Brief Marines on Patrol and Call Family. Even being a Sergeant had some form of paperwork that had to be done. The bureaucracy was going to be the death of me in the Marines. I was one of the trigger pullers, never the pencil pushers. At the corner of my eyes I spotted someone different from the crowd. Brunette hair bobbing up and down in a ponytail with no helmet on. The black armored vest worn over the British Multi-Terrain Pattern in a mishmash of green, browns and whites. It could only belong to the SIS agent.

"Hey!" I yelled seeing a few heads turned towards me, but not her.

"Hey you, redcoat!" I screamed once again catching her attention.

"Did you call me a redcoat?" she looked offended, but I didn't care.

"Sorry, it was the only way to get your attention," I apologized and dropped the notebook into my trouser pockets.

"Are you Staff Sergeant Micheal Durst?" she asked as I nodded.

"How do you know?" I replied walking with her.

"Your reputation has gossip spreading across the entire FOB," she chuckled, "some people say that you're a ninja assassin sent by the Japanese to kill all Taliban."

"No, no, I'm just one of the soldiers doing his part in this giant war," I said.

"And how did you hear this?" I inquired stopping at a small, ancient hut that was, in the past, the only structure at the bottom of the entire valley. It was also my squad's meeting room.

"One by the name of Conrad Mejia," I gave out a small laugh at the name.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

"That fucker," I whispered, "he's one of my men. A prevalent prankster that bastard. Loves to cause trouble on base. Most people think he's demented on the inside."

"No wonder he thought you were the devil," she smirked, I decided to change the topic.

"I didn't catch your name."

"Captain Elizabeth Eddington, Secret Intelligence Service," she said curtly.

"What's an MI6 operative agent doing here?" I asked pushing on the ancient, poorly built door.

"Not all agents are spies, Mr. Durst. I'm here as a translator for your squad and to report or investigate any leads about a new leader in the terrorist business," she explained with a quick smile as I saw someone come up to me from the corner of my eye.

"Staff Sergeant," the 2IC of my squad huffed and panted from his jog in body armor, "Corporal Wilkins reporting for debriefing. Griffin told me you were having a meeting, so I came early to see if need help with anything."

"Yeah sure. Help me put up the map and mark out the zones according to the notebook," I ordered seeing him nod.

"Got any work for me Staff Sergeant?" Captain Eddington asked, only to receive a small chuckle from me.

"You're an officer. You get the privilege to sit down and relax," I paused pinning extra flags to mark out patrol routes onto a small mock-up of the area placed on a decaying table, "ma'am."

"I was a grunt before I became SIS, Micheal. No need to baby me," she shot back, "now do you have some work for me or not?"

"Feisty one aren't you?" I asked, slightly surprised by her humble background as an infantrymen, only to receive an eye rolling from her.

"Just go get the radio frequencies from the commo station next to Lieutenant Able's tent. No need to rush, I'll introduce you to the men near the end of the briefing," I said as she shrugged and walked out the door.

Inside the hut housed a large mock-up of the surroundings I had asked from the Lieutenant to carry out more accurate mission planning. It wasn't as detailed but it conveyed what my troops needed to know on the Marine's need-to-know basis. Behind me was a large chalkboard detailing wake-up times, rally times and points. Rules of Engagements and Standard Operating Procedures would be after the patrol routes and objective. Corporal Wilkins slowly shuffled towards me, his boots dragging across the dirt floor. I could smell the days of not showering and bathing float out off his body like a mist of grime and stink.

"Who was that, Staff Sergeant?" he asked curiously.

"I'll tell you like the rest of the squad in the briefing," I replied, sniffing the air for a few seconds, "have you been showering?"

"Couldn't Sergeant. We've been on guard duty to cover for Mike Company," he sighed and finished writing the notes up on the board, "the guys have been having it tough since we came back from that chase."

"We'll have to solve that problem later," I replied and grabbed the notebook from Corporal Wilkins.

Men started to fill in half an hour before the rally time, all of them with nothing to do. All of them were fireteam leaders. Corporal Griffin, Lance Corporal Davis and Lance Corporal Taylor formed a small circle with Corporal Wilkins and I to exchange base gossip and rumors. All of us had one thing in common, we were either married or in a serious relationship with a significant other. That helped us find something in common while the fireteam squaddies only had girlfriends or were single. Seats began to fill as we discussed mission execution and parameters.

Five minutes before the rally time, everyone was here and the fireteam leaders quickly did a head count before taking their seats at the very front row with my 2IC sitting in the spotlight and was the only one sitting in front of the entire squad. It was meant to help him understand his position as a leader and start him in the mindset of having more responsibilities during his first few weeks of deployment. Corporal Langley sat down near the back where he was conversing Private First Class Steven McCullough, Alpha's Rifleman. His father used to be a close friend of mine and still is in charge of the United States Marine Corps Force Reconnaissance. A fair coach but a slave driver of a man who demanded excellence from his Marines and it also, from the looks of, his children also.

I looked at my digital watch blink 18:55. Everyone was here and accounted for. Before, I had to give the men a little 'motivation' to get them all on time in their first few weeks. A little busting of their chops for a few weeks paid off by the looks of it.

"Alright, listen up! Eyes and ears open, shut the fuck up and listen. You know the drill, save the questions for last," I barked seeing the men instantly stop talking and listen.

"First order of business is from the top," I pointed at the chalkboard, "LT wants us to go on a patrol. So, at 0200 Hours, Wilkins and I will sound the horns. You have an hour and a half to do your business. Shit, piss, eat, talk to your significant others, masturbate, whatever, do it before you rally up with us at 0315 Hours. After we pass rally time, we'll gear up and arm up. L Company is going out with us since M Company got an IED shoved up their asses. Don't know about the casualties, don't care about them. All I care about is getting you fucking punks, home and alive. If that fails, I'm getting you home, either in pieces or in a bag."

I paused to examine the men. Their eyes were focused on the board as sweat ran down their dirt caked faces, making small little rivers down to their chins. Most had dark bags under their eyes either from lack of sleep or choosing not to sleep. Combat fatigue and mental stability were the main issues when their enemies weren't just insurgents fighting in the shadows, it was the make-shift bombs they hide in the ground.

"Let's go, huddle around the map," I ordered pulling out my combat knife and using it as a point.

"Take note fireteam leaders."

"Okay, we're going to be leaving first out of four. We'll be joined by Lima Company's newest. Weapon Platoon's Charlie squad," instantly the men groaned seeing they were going to be babysitting FNGs.

"Hey, no fucking moans or bitching. You were once the new kids on the block so treat them like you would like to be treated," I said before whispering, "I know that's never going to happen."

"0330, we step-off with at least one meter between each man and go west towards the Shah-i-kot valley. Instead of taking MSR Bach, we'll zigzag between the roads and the forests to minimize IEDs and stop the enemy from finding a pattern. We'll cover the left side of the road and make our way to Farah, stop and converse with the locals for a few minutes before scanning the area and looping back on the right side of the road. Whatever IEDs are laid on the road, it's not our job to disarm or to detect. EOD has that job and this patrol is strictly search and destroy," I explained, showing the routes we would be walking to the Marines.

"Expect anywhere between eight to fourteen hours of patrolling so stock up adequately. If you need to piss, do it when we go firm and remember the rules. Dark yellow or cloudy, drink up. If it's clear white, you're good to go," I paused and looked up to the men, "questions?"

One of Bravo's men raised their hands.

"Gonzales."

"Should we be expectin' to bring our combat packs or extended assault packs?" he asked.

"Good question," I replied taking a quick moment to think, "it's up to your preference. If you think you can hold on with normal combat packs go ahead. But for automatic riflemen and assistant riflemen, bring your extended packs jammed with ammunition and water. Just in case of your friends think that he's the fucking terminator and ends up dehydrated from water, give him a bottle to keep him going."

"Anyone else?" I asked seeing Gonzales and the rest of the men nod, I saw another hand go up.

"McCullough."

"Will we be expected to bring heavy weapons on this patrol? I'm just asking seeing that Charlie from Weapon Platoon's coming along," he said.

"They will be bringing the pain yes but, it's always good to bring a SMAW or two just in case," I replied.

"Anyone else?" I asked once again and seeing no hands, "No? Okay, I'm going to bring the hammer on this before I get your hopes up."

"As of today, we K Company, Charlie Squad will be staying in FOB Utah for another month."

"Fuck! What? Are you serious?" I heard Meija groan.

"Staff Sergeant, this has to be a prank...right?" Townsend scoffed, everyone except for the fireteam leaders and 2IC bitched and moaned.

"Do you think the Staff Sergeant jokes around?" Griffin growled before turning to me.

"There is an explanation for this right?" I nodded.

"As you might have heard, the British are taking over FOB Utah. Starting with this next batch. Some FUBAR shit happened to one of their squads and spread out enough as the British are, they can't spare reinforcements. Weapons Platoon along with us are going to be here for another month or so. Weapons Platoon is here to provide us extra firepower so, do not fuck with them. They will be our only family in a sea of red coast, hooah?" I asked.

"Hooah," they meekly replied, seeing that their leave to go home has been delayed.

"I didn't train you to be cocksuckers, I trained you to be a fucking laser eyed samurai stone cold killing Marine. Now fucking act like it," I yelled into their faces and saw Corporal Langley chuckle from behind the group.

"Hooah Staff Sergeant!" they screamed once again.

"Now that's more like it!" the group of teenagers were still hit pretty low on their morale.

"Another thing, your after action report," they started to groan once again, "shut the fuck up. I'm going to delay it because of changing of forces and patrols. We can't have men tiring out."

"Staff Sergeant, I got your radio frequencies." It was Captain Eddington and she was holding a small notebook in one of her hands.

"Also, the SIS agent. Captain Elizabeth Eddington will be attached to us as an interpreter," I added quickly at the end.

"If there's nothing else, fuck off and get some water on you. You smell worse than a goddamn raghead prostitute party," I dismissed the group and went to erase the chalkboard.

"I thought ragheads don't have prostitutes boss," Meija snarked before leaving the small hut.

"Get the fuck out Meija, I don't want my sanity to be null before I get back to the states." Wilkins and I stayed back to clean up the hut and help put away the chairs.

Wilkins and I started to scrub the board clean and stow away the mock-up as the men left. After all, even with Marines under your command, you needed to be the janitor once in a while. As I was stacking up the rotting chairs up on top of each other, I saw Corporal Langley stand in front of the desk while the last of the chatting men left. His eyes stared intently at the new SIS agent sent to us by the British. She too stood there staring back whether in shock or just to spite his eyesight, I couldn't read her. With the last man out, he walked towards her and in a low voice he asked.

"Can I talk to you Captain?" his voice snarled, a bead of sweat dropping down Captain Eddington's face as she gulped.

"Sure, Langley," she replied.

How the hell did she know his lastname?

"Sergeant," Wilkins stated.

"Yeah?" I replied.

"I'm getting bad atmospherics from those two," atmospherics or the general vibe of the situation and yes was it a bad feeling.

"Hmm..." I grumbled seeing the two walk outside before disappearing behind the crowd of Marines.

"Fuck it," I breathed, "whatever those two do with each other is between them. Don't meddle with the officer's shit or else you'll get the short end of the stick."

"Roger that boss," Wilkins replied and finished stacking up the chairs.

"Now fuck off and get yourself into a river or a shower. All of you smell like shit," I ordered seeing him nod eagerly.

"Yes, Sergeant!" he exclaimed, grabbing his weapon before bolting out of the shed.

I grabbed my rifle and strapped on my helmet before walking out the door. The wooden door scrapped the dirt floor as it closed with it's uneven wooden planks and a chain lock kept the door from behind open by anyone else. It looked like the chain was even more durable than the door, it could be kicked in by a small baby. It was time for the daily ritual to kick in, bathe, eat, sleep. Bathe was the first thing to do, a healthy Marine is a good Marine. Two rivers ran through the FOB, although pretty clean, you wouldn't want to drink from it. Especially not when hundreds of Marines bath in it everyday. Hot water were reserved for the officers and female personnel on base since they needed private showers. Walking towards one of the rivers, I spotted Langley. He was talking to Eddington in an area where the Marines don't really frequent and for a reason. The western wall had an area called the 'Marine Mincer'. Over fifteen Marines had been killed either manning or patrolling the area and the conversation looked like it was going south.

"Listen Liz, you disappear from my life for ten years and you show up as an SIS agent? How does that bloody work?" Langley growled with evident anger.

"It's not my fault Tory. Dad fell ill and Mom left! If I didn't join the Army, Lucy would be starving by now!" She screamed back as I approached the two.

"You should have called me! I would have helped out if you had just called," Langley shot back before his eyes glanced over to me.

"Staff Sergeant," he backed down immediately.

"Something of the matter Marine?" I asked.

"Just some...personal," he breathed looking over to Eddington, "issues."

"I won't question you but remember. Clear it out now before you get in the field," I said and saw him nod.

"Don't worry Sergeant," he replied and turned to Eddington, "it'll be resolved."

"What did not help you through school just for you to end up in the bloody Royal Army. You could've become a doctor or a businesswoman easy. But, why the goddamn military?" I heard Langley snarl as I walked away.

"Face it Tory. I don't have enough money..." the conversation faded away in a melody of gear clacking together, Marines running and the distant gunfire.

I pulled out my notebook to cross out another of my chores. The last one was mandatory before I left, Call Family. I sighed and walked passed the communication hub. Lines of Marines stretched far behind the measly four satellite phones available for service. I wasn't about to get in anytime soon. With a sigh, I moved on and headed towards where my squad was. I heard and smell the river before I could see it, men screaming and water splashing. It was the only place for Marines to wind down without netting themselves a NJP (Non-Judaical Punishment) from the company Sergeant. The smell of moisture filled my lungs with a refreshing scent. Afghanistan was a hot and humid place, the only thing you breathe was hot air. It seared your lungs and dust clogged your throat.

"Hey look who it is!" Do called from a headlock, Taylor's arm was around his neck.

"Why don't you come and join us Sergeant?" Campbell asked, lying down on the bank of the river with his boxers on and suntanning in the Afghan sun.

"Yeah, yeah, hold on you delinquents," I grumbled and pulled off my body armor.

Most of the men were stark naked, their junks hung out proudly. Being a society of men meant that they didn't have to fear about their sexuality being questioned. War turned everyone into some sort of primal animal and I guess it was one of those primal instincts. Townsend wrapped his arm around McCullough's and wrestled him into the water with a splash. The other fireteam members laughed seeing the two going at it as the pair traded punches and blows. Sparring kept the Marines from stressing out and it too kept them in shape. The ones with children, Davis, Taylor and Griffin kept to themselves and exchanged pictures of their children while suntanning and smoking. I jumped in and felt the cool water soak through my boxers. Around me, the water slowly turned into a circle of brown as the dirt and grime were washed off. It felt good to have water on your skin instead of layers upon layers of grime.

"Hey Staff Sergeant!" Wilkins yelled as I turned to see a splash of water smack into my face.

"Why you little no good bastard," I grumbled with a small smile on my face, wading through the water after the 2IC.

"Place your bets! Staff Sergeant or Wilkins? Who will come out on top!" I heard Mejia's voice scream out as I lunged for Wilkins.

Wilkins dived under the water to evade my lunge. I felt the water splash all over my face before sound was put on mute. Underwater, I could see the light cascade onto the river floor through the surface. The water was crystal clear. Fish, small aquatic plants and a sea of men could be seen clearly. Wilkins was just a few inches in front of me. He kicked his feet and sent bubbles straight into my face. My eyes snapped shut and my arm punched through the water. I felt rough skin, my finger curling around the limb. A muted yelp reached my ears. Opening I eyes, I saw my hand around his ankle. I wrestled my arms around his neck and popped out of the water. Men cheered as I had Wilkin's head in a deadlock. Mejia was a veteran when it came to the gambling business, everything was a statistic to him and everything was money. I released Wilkins and saw a couple men exchanging money and food, anything could be traded. I decided that this was enough for one day, I had things I needed to do before tomorrow's patrol.

"Alright, that's it you little fucks. I need to go do admin stuff," I said and pulled myself onto land.

"Is that it Sergeant? I thought you wanted me to make a little more off of your daily shows," Mejia yelled as I walked away.

I held up my middle finger, walking back with body armor on my chest and my clothes in my hands. Stark naked I saw Langley stride towards the infantry barracks. He looked really pissed off. A few moments later he appeared out of the barracks with his assault rifle and six magazines in hand. It looked like he was going to vent off some anger. I paid no heed to him. Men needed to do what they needed to do, they knew they needed to be in top form for all patrols and missions. Especially when you could die at any moment. I entered the NCO quarters, skipping dinner and quickly changed my clothes before jumping into my hammock. Inside my duffel bag was a small secret pocket used during my special operation years for items of high importance. Currently, it housed a satellite phone I bought for times when I couldn't use the military phone booths. I pulled out the giant brick of a phone, I decided to call. With a static-filled beep, I waited to be connected.

"Hello?" Came a voice.

"Is this the Carr residence?" I asked nervously waiting to talk to my family after three months.

"Yes, this is Molly Carr speaking. Who is this?" It was Vicki's mother.

"It's me," I said with a small sigh, "Mike Durst."

"Oh, Mikey!" Molly exclaimed, "I'm sorry. I didn't know it was you. Your voice was so..."

"Alien?" I asked, "I'm just a bit worn out that's all. The bad satellite reception's not helping either."

"No, no, I didn't mean it like that," she replied, the conversation slipped into an awkward silence.

"Is Vicki there?" I asked after a short pause.

"Yes hold on," she said before yelling, "Vicki! Vicki!"

"Hello?" she said with a small giggle, they very one I fell in love with.

"Vick?" I asked, "it's me Mike."

"Oh...," her cheery tone evaporated, "Mike. How are you doing?"

"I'm just calling to say hi and check up on things before tomorrow," I felt like she didn't know who I was anymore.

"Are you going on a patrol or something?" she asked, I heard a man's voice in the background. It wasn't her father either.

"You know I can't tell you anything," I sighed.

"This is why I don't like you being in the Marines, Mike. You leave me with two children for months on ends and I can't even know where or what you're doing!" I could hear that she was tearing up again, "then, you go off and break your promise by joining up again after you told me you'd leave."

"Vick, where is Jake's toy?" a male voice said, definitely not her father's.

"Who was that?" I demanded.

"Huh?" she said absentmindedly after the phone was ruffled by cloth a few times, "j-just a friend."

"Do you want to talk to Jake and Holly?" she changed the topic quickly.

"Sure," I replied, a seething anger growing inside me.

"Hello?" a small, meek voice answered.

"Jake?" I asked.

"Hi Dad!" he exclaimed.

"How are you doing, buddy?" I said with a small smile, the anger subsiding when I heard his voice. I was filled with joy.

"Good," he replied at first, trying to find things to talk about, "Ryan and Mom took Holly and me to Disneyland yesterday!"

"Really? How was it?" Ryan, who the fuck was he?

"Good. I didn't really like the big car thing," he replied.

"Big car thing? You mean the roller-coaster?" I asked, slightly amused.

"Yeah that!" he yelled.

"Jake," I said, "do you know who Ryan is?"

Something was telling me that this Ryan character was not 'just a friend'. When Marines, Army Infantry or Navy men went away on deployment, a good number of wives and girlfriends have affairs. Never the Air Force though, don't really know why? Maybe it's the fact that the chair force got their own internet cafe inside the damn building and not some backwater phone booth. I started to get the idea that Vicky was having an affair with him.

"No," he replied as I heard Holly's laugh, "he visits Mom a lot after we stayed at grandma's. He drives a big car and has lots of money, too."

Yeah, sounds like an affair to me.

"Is that daddy, Jake?" I heard babyish voice ask.

"Yeah!" Jake replied, the phone once again ruffled against hands and clothes.

"Hi daddy," Holly said with a shy voice.

"Hello little one," I said with a small chuckle. It was a nickname I gave her since she was born.

"Where are you daddy?" she asked, the question cut through my heart like a dagger.

"I miss you." Now that hurt.

"I can't tell you where I am little one. But, daddy will be home in a month or so," I replied as throat started to choke up, "do you know how many days are in a month?"

"Thirty?" she asked.

"That's right. Now can you countdown the days until daddy comes home?" Tears started to form in my eyes. Leading men into battle was one thing, missing your kids another thing entirely.

"One, two..." she started.

"No, little one. Countdown each day that passes by," I said.

"Okay. So today is one," she said as she tried to figure it out, "tomorrow is two!"

"That's right," I said with a small smile.

"Then, then, the day after that is three!" she yelled, figuring it all out.

"Holly?" I asked.

"Yes daddy?" she replied.

"Can I talk to Mommy again?" Once again more fumbling.

"Yes?" Vicky was trying to stop her sob, her voice stifled.

"Who's Ryan?" I asked, the anger slowly returning. It burned like fire through my veins.

"I t-told you. J-just a f-friend," she stammered.

"I'm going to ask again. Who's Ryan?" I growled, the beast was seething with rage.

"I have to go." That was it, she cut the line. The four words I most hated when she was trying to lie to me.

What I felt right now was like every other man. Destroy everything in sight. MARSOC and Recon training hampered the habit, self-discipline was paramount. I calmed myself and took a few deep breaths. The burning in my heart didn't go away but the anger was subdued. I placed my phone back inside my duffel bag and deployed the mosquito net. I had no time to spare, tomorrow's patrol now was priority one. With a last look at my family's picture on the wall, I closed my eyes and tried to sleep with the sun still setting. At first, it was annoying with the sun's rays prying at my eyelids. But soon, exhaustion had kicked in and I was fast asleep within minutes, snoring my way into dreamland.


	6. Chapter 6: Stepping Off

**Author's Note: It's been slow but action is around the corner. This next chapter is purely focused on the gritty and raw of combat. As always, please enjoy this chapter.**

* * *

Green Team

September 16th, 2014

Staff Sergeant Michael "Dust" Durst

Forward Operating Base Utah

Konar, Afghanistan

0100 Hours

_My ears were ringing, why were they ringing? Dust stung my lungs and something sticky dripped from my forehead. I felt my senses slowly slip from me as if I was drunk. I realized I was faced down on the mountainside and pushed tried to push myself off to ground. My arms were numb and limp. I didn't feel Gaf's reassuring grip on my body armor's neck strap nor did I hear him yell. All I could do was roll over. My eyes snapped open to a daze of colors, white dominated the dark sky. It felt like I was having a concussion. Groaning, my hand went to the chest holster to find my pistol gone but my rifle, luckily, was still slung around my neck. I pulled out the SCAR mag and stared hard at it as if the bullets would jump out and into my eyes. I smacked the magazine back into the rifle and rolled over._

"_Dust!" I heard someone scream, "Dust!"_

"_What the fuck is it?" the words came out of my mouth._

"_I'm hit!" I was in disbelief._

"_What?" I yelled, sitting up and aiming up the mountain._

"_I'm fucking hit!" he screamed._

_I scrambled towards him, worry shot through my body. I couldn't illuminate the area due to the threat of the insurgents. But, I could throw a flare in their direction. I reached into my pack pulled out a cylindrical tube. I bit the top off and smashed the butt into the ground. Smoke plumed from the top with small sparks of orange. With a quick toss, the flare exploded into a ball of burning orange light. _

_Light bathed the entire top half of the mountainside. There I saw four, no five ragheads all dressed in military camouflage equipped with ancient AK-47 rifles. One of them was clean shaven and was holding a grenade in his hand. Time seemed to stop as I stared down the five of them. I saw sweat dripping from his forehead, his face slick with grime and oil. I realized that I was holding my breath. Fuck._

"_Oh shit!" Gaf yelled as I lifted the SCAR with one hand._

_I squeezed the trigger and felt the gun jump wildly in my hand, the recoil was too much for one hand. Heat seared my left cheek. Gaf was firing his rifle so close to me that the back blast from the silencer was being directed towards my face. Two went down instantly after we opened fire. The one with the grenade pulled out the pin as I gripped the rifle with two hands. My fingers moved with reflex, the scope aimed dead center on his bright and green body. **Crack**. **Crack**. Two 7.62mm bullets slammed into his body and created two small dark puncture holes. I lowered my rifle to see red expanding from the holes the bullet made. He fell backwards, the grenade still in his hands. Alarmed, one of the men jumped from his position and started to run. His friend turned around to tell him to come back._

_My eyes widened, they were only a few meters away._

"_Gaf, get the fuck down!" I screamed and jumped on top of his body._

_My body covered Gaf's entirely. Maybe not the legs. I heard an ear splitting bang shatter the brief silence. The both of us was rocked slightly from the explosion. My ears, once again, were ringing. Something fell onto my helmet. It sounded like rain, the pitter-patter of water. Except it wasn't water. Rocks, pebbles and dirt were blown into the air by the grenade. Burning. Something burned all over my arm. I got off Gaf and felt my entire arm explode into a mixed sensation of stinging and burning. Gaf sat up and looked at me before speaking. No words came out of his mouth._

"_You're bleeding!" he screamed, it felt like I just surfaced from being underwater._

"_What?" I yelled back._

"_You're. Bleeding!" I looked down at my arm._

"_Fuck me," I whispered._

_My arm looked like burnt meat, the multicam combat shirt had been shredded from the shrapnel. That wasn't even the bad part, the bad part was the burns that came with the detonation. My charred skin looked dangerously reddened and some areas were just plain black. As the adrenaline started to fade, pain started to creep in. I gritted my teeth and looked to Gaf who was busy trying to dress his own. The men that were attacking us had been killed in the grenade explosion. Two bloodied remains decorated the small forest clearing with limbs and pieces of dead meat._

"_Damn it!" Gaf yelled trying to bandage his wound, it was too far down for him to reach._

"_Gaf," I said moving closer to him, "help me with my bandages and I'll patch you up."_

"_Alright," he grunted and went to grab some alcohol._

"_Christ," he whispered again seeing the burn wounds._

"_What have you got into Dust?" I saw him pulled out his canteen._

_The both of us took out our knives and started cutting away at the pieces of the shirt that clung onto the wound. With each piece of cloth coming off, it felt like fire was being lit on my skin. I soaked a bandage in cool water and gave it to Gaf. The gently pressed the bandage onto my arm. Pain shot up my arm. At first, it stung, it stung like a bitch before it became a throbbing pain. The process was repeated until a roll of gauze was used to secure the entire thing in place. It honestly looked like a mosaic of red, brown and yellow on my arm. I nodded to Gaf and flipped him on his back. His right calve had been struck by a piece of shrapnel and offending metal shard was protruding out of his skin. I lined up my equipment in order. Alcohol, bandages, gauze, tape._

"_Bite onto your knife," I told him and saw him bite down hard onto his combat knife's hilt._

_I gripped the shard and gently started to pull. Gaf's muffled scream filled the silence as I pulled harder. When it seemed like Gaf was going to faint from exhaustion, the shard slipped out. With a sigh of relief, his head slumped down into the ground. The shard was about an inch or two wide and one side was dripping with blood. Alcohol quickly came next and was poured all over the wound before a roll of gauze was packed into the small bleeding slit. Blood was pouring out as the gauze filled in every gap inside his calve to prevent it from moving and absorb the blood pouring out. Another roll of gauze was used to secure the entire thing in place and tape to hold it together. With a relieved sigh, Gaf and I laid on the cold ground for a short breather._

"_Ironhide One Three, Ironhide One One, come in over," the headset came to life._

"_Roger that Ironhide One Three. Ironhide One One here, where the fuck were you guys? Over," I chuckled looking at the entire gravity of the situation._

"_We were in a bit of a jam with the Ali Babas. SITREP is, the pilots and crewmen are safe, wounds patched up with a healthy dose of Iraqis coming for us. What's your 20?" Combo asked as I glanced at Gaf._

"_We're two thirds up the mountain and just confirmed killed five hajjis. But we're both man downed. Over," I replied._

"_You're both hit?" Combo said with a hint of surprise in his voice._

"_Yeah," I said nonchalantly since it was part of the job, "I got blasted by a frag's heat and shrapnel, burned my arm and probably embedded hundreds of metal pieces in my arm while shrapnel clipped One Two's right calve."_

"_Fucking hell," Combo whispered, "what about the mission?"_

"_We'll improvise and complete it. Don't worry about it," I replied and ended the transmission._

_I laid still for a few minutes to gather my thoughts and form a plan. The flare started to fade, sputtering out from orange brilliance into pitch black darkness. Only the light from the moon fell upon the silent world below filled with mountains and forests. Stars sparkled in the dark sky littered with clouds floating across the moon and blocking it with occasional periods of blissful darkness. The wind picked up and carried the smell of gunpowder away from the surroundings. Birds, insects and small animals resumed their chirping after a brief pause. The world felt still once again. _

_My arm started to burn, burn white hot before numbing._

Beeping, annoying beeping filled the air and made the memory evaporate in a puff of smoke. I grunted and flipped over in my sleep, my right arm was numb from being slept on. I tried to turn off the alarm on my watch just to feel electrical sparks course through my entire right arm. With a growl of frustration, I got out of bed and started my routine. Make my bed, go take a shower and brush my teeth, put on my gear, eat and grab ammunition for the squad before I go on patrol. I took one last look at the photo taped on the wooden wall. This might as well be my last time on this planet, the job was dangerous and I knew it when I enlisted.

The river was cold. Balls freezing cold. In the days, the weather was so hot you could fry an egg on the rocks. But during the middle of night, the weather fell below zero and ice was starting to frost in the two rivers. Doesn't bother me though, I just needed to take a quick dip to get some water on my skin. Flood lights bathed the roads in blinding light and only some of the luminance spilled into the rivers. I had to wear night vision goggles just to take a short dip before heading over to the armory to pick up my designated ammunition.

On the way to the armory, I saw Captain Eddington sipping from a small metal cup with a tray still full of food. The mess was essentially a giant tent with rudimentary wooden tables and chairs. Day in and day out we were served with rice, a sprinkle of pork or beef with a side dish of military candy bars for dessert. As for beverages, the service was even worse than the worst of fast food restaurants. The only choices were water, energy drink laced with loads of sugar and caffeine, coffee or standard piss-warm (or in this case piss-cold) orange juice. I grabbed a tray from the overworked Corporal manning the station and walked towards Eddington who sat in the most deserted corner with her back turned to me.

"Wake up early, ma'am?" I asked addressing her as per regulations, she was clearly annoyed by me addressing her as such.

"You can drop the formalities Durst. I'm not under my command, I'm under yours. We're basically friends," she huffed as I sat down next to her.

"You got it Captain," I chuckled.

"Dammit Durst!" she snapped.

"Bollocks, sorry." she quickly apologized. I was surprised by her sudden outburst.

"Something wrong?" I asked, digging into the cold food.

"I-It's just..." Elizabeth breathed, "I didn't get enough sleep."

"I thought you were a grunt before," I said and felt the goop of rice sliding down my throat. If the Taliban could live off this, so could we.

"I-I was," she stuttered, "and still am! It's just that...I was what you would call a 'POG'."

"So," I stated plainly, "this was your first real 'battlefield' experience."

"You could say that," she whispered at polished her brand-new, metal field cup with her thumbs.

"How the did you make it past First Lieutenant without ever experiencing 'the shock'?" I asked glancing at her as I swallowed down the dry meat.

"Never mind, scratch that last. It's probably the British MOD's weird way of promoting people," I huffed and took a sip of the freezing cold juice.

Battlefield shock or 'the shock' as we Marines called it is the condition when new, fresh out of boot camp recruits entered the theater for the first time. After taking their first contact, many, if not all, were changed drastically from that moment in life onwards. Symptoms included, lack of sleep, loss of appetite, diarrhea, constant shaking and paranoia. All of Charlie squad went through 'the shock'. During the first few months, many had already become adept at adapting to their environment. With the exception of Hayes. Hayes was a wimpy kid in school. Good grades, but under par confidence and lack of athleticism. Like many others, he joined for the money and a chance at college. He came from a poor family and wanted to man up for once in his life. The Marines was his first choice and soon, like all that joined, became his family. When he was injured, I could tell that all of my squad had taken a heavy blow.

Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak, but closed it and looked away. A single breath of white mist escaped her mouth as she sighed before sipping the liquid. I looked at my watch. 0135 Hours, about twenty five minutes before wake-up call. I finished my meal and gulped down the juice, many things needed to be done before we leaved for patrol.

I stood up to leave.

"Going already?" Elizabeth asked, her voice was lowered and hushed.

"I need to set up the radios and sight my rifle," I replied, "you could come with me if you want."

She simply nodded in reply.

The two of us walked over to a deserted rifle range, no one was practicing and all of the sentries were busy looking at a pitch black canvas of darkness or were dozing off. The occasional pop from mortars sent a bright, orange glowing balls of light into the air to illuminate the area for any advancing enemies during the cover of darkness. The Taliban seldom attacking at night but there were instances where they did, and with surprising lethality. I sat on the bench, fiddling with the AN/PRC-148 MBITR's (Multiband Inter/Intra Team Radio) radio frequencies to key in for support, command and squad communications. Elizabeth looked at her rifle as if she never fired it. I knew she did in her training, but it was her inability to practice with it that made her so confused.

"You ever fire that thing?" I asked, gesturing at the British L85A2 assault rifle.

"Of course!" she replied bluntly.

"In the last six weeks," I added and saw her back hunch.

"Don't worry," I chuckled, "I'll turn you into one my Marines yet."

I walked towards a small booth and saw the Marine that was working at the armory doing extra shifts at the range.

"Hey Rodney," I greeted seeing the Private reading an outdated car magazine, "how are you doing?"

"Hello Staff Sergeant!" he said with a smile and turned towards me, "Pretty good. How can I help you today?"

"Can you get me two boxes of 5.56 ammunition?" I asked.

"Yeah sure. No problem," he replied and walked into the backroom.

"What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be asleep by now?" I yelled, hearing metal clinking from the room.

"I was just doing this for the quartermaster!" he screamed back before walking out with two metal ammunition boxes, "He was offering call cards to us. My wife has a baby on the way and he's due in a few days. We're going to be home within the week but I'll still miss his birth."

"Cheer up Rodney," I said with a grin, "having a child is one of the greatest things that could happen to a man."

"W-well, I mean," he stuttered, "when I go back how am I supposed to hold the child? I'm scared I'll drop the baby! My wife's getting more anxious as the day goes by, the call card's barely enough."

"Don't worry about it. When you see your wife and the baby, everything else will come by instinct," I assured the young Private.

"Really?" he asked, anxiously.

"Yes really," I replied and glanced back at the Captain, "I've got to go."

"Thanks for the advice Sergeant," Rodney said.

I walked back to the bench and dropped the two boxes next to Elizabeth who looked at me with quizzical look. Without a word, I sat down and opened the box. Taking one of the magazines from my pouch, I started loading it with bullets. Elizabeth hesitated at first, but quickly followed my lead. Her hands were clumsy. Bullets dropping from the metal cartridge with untrained hands. The casing of the bullet being slid in, instead of being pushed straight down and into the magazine. I was finished in a matter of minutes. She was still loading. I decided to wait a few minutes more to let her finish loading.

"Are you doing?" I asked seeing her nod, one of her magazines had a bullet tip protruding just outside of the magazine.

"No you're not," I said.

"Yes I," she started looking down at her magazine, "oh."

I nodded in satisfaction and stood up, drawing one of the magazines from my pouch. Stepping into one of the lanes, I slammed the magazine in and racked the bolt. The round chambered with a sharp _clack_. The entire range was dark. Two targets at the edge of the range was completely shrouded in the pitch black of the night. Five targets closer towards the range at fifty meters however were lit by the range's flood lights, bathing the area in a white light from it's tungsten bulb. I waited and waited before hearing a rifle go off. I glanced to see Elizabeth trying to hit a target at eighty meters, and missing. She tried again. Her finger jerking the trigger and sending the round right over the metal plate.

_Pop_, _pssssh._

Another illumination round had gone up and lit up the entire valley the FOB was in. The target out at two hundred meters glistened with it's metal plate covered in darkened black soot from the bullets. I steadied my breathing and squeezed the trigger. The rifle recoiled into my shoulder, the kick felt like a soft tap to my shoulder. A split second later, the round impacted the plate with a satisfying _tink._ I fired again, and again, and again. Just as the illumination round extinguished I heard my rifle click empty. Hot smoke drifting out of the chamber in the cold weather. I pulled out the magazine and exhaled, letting my lungs breathe again after thirty seconds of holding my breath. I heard the crack of Elizabeth's rifle and the _zing_ of a ricocheting round. She managed to miss yet again. She tried again, her finger spazzing the trigger.

"Don't jerk the trigger," I instructed, "let your finger slowly pull it."

"What do you know?" She growled with frustration.

"You're just some trigger puller," she said as she fired once again and missed the target.

"This trigger puller," I said putting more force behind my voice, "was a Scout Sniper. This trigger puller, was a Special Forces operative and this trigger puller, will get you from being _killed_."

"Listen to me if you do not want to end up as an executed prisoner on live hajji TV," she looked down at her rifle, her face still defiant.

"Take aim," I ordered and saw her hold up her weapon.

"Breathe in, then out. In then out, in and hold," she did as told and paused her breathing.

"Squeeze," I said in a low, calm voice.

She slowly squeezed the trigger, the metal lever inching backwards. Her eye was focused on the target and her body was still. The barrel of her rifle bobbed up and down slightly but apart from that, everything was perfect. The crack of the bullet echoed through the silent valley. Her round was spot on in the torso of the human shaped metal plate. Her eyes widened with happiness as she repeated the process. Most of the bullets were hits with some being misses due to excitement at her new found accuracy and from jerking the trigger. Minutes passed before the both of us decided that target practice was enough for one early morning. I had thanked Private Rodney for letting us use the range during the twilight hours of the day and started the walk towards the grunt's barracks.

"I was wondering," Elizabeth said, "how come a former special forces solider is commanding this lot? Aren't your type supposed to be with each other forever or something like that?"

"Long story," I grunted.

"We've got time," she replied blissfully.

I scowled at her sudden happiness.

"Do you have a period or something?" I asked earning a glare from her.

"No," she sternly replied.

"Fine. I'll tell you the story," I grunted, "I hope I don't have to tell it to anyone again."

I re-accounted my experiences with MARSOC and Scout Sniper school along with some operations that I thought were important to the doctors diagnosing me with TBI. The nightmare memories of Iraq and hunting down the commander of the Iraqi Special Republic Guards. The amounts of close by explosions were the main reasons that operation had left a scar in my memory not to mention the loss of a life. If only the medevac birds would have arrived faster, then we wouldn't have had a death on the operation. Instead of spending the time with my family, I just had to babysit a group of teenagers. Fan-fucking-tastic.

"So that's how it is," Elizabeth whispered.

"Yeah and now I'm babysitting these crybabies," I said, stopping in front of the grunt's tent.

"Wait here, it's time for their wake up call."

I walked inside the barracks and stopped at a large clearing. The room was walled off by hescos, metal plates, wooden planks, anything that looked like it could stop flying metal. It was a large room enough to fit fifteen sleeping men with their sleeping bags and cots. Wilkins was sleeping in a small tent with mosquito netting, his own little upgrade for being 2IC as well as getting extra blankets. The fireteam leaders were the same and slept across from him in the same tent. They all had the same privileges. The regular Marines slept on the ground with two layers of sleeping bags, their gear all lined up against the wall. The center was cleared for people to walk through. On the walls were letters, pictures of their families, magazine pin-ups of hot women and posters of porn stars to keep them motivated. The roof was thick wood with Kevlar inserts raised off a couple centimeters from the hescos to allow air to come in but also to allow the Marines to fire through the space. I went to Wilkin's tent and crouched down.

"Wake up," I whispered tapping Wilkin's cheek.

"Huh?" Wilkins mumbled, his eyes fluttering open.

"Morning Staff Sergeant," he whispered and rubbed his eyes.

"Time to wake the boys up," I replied before walking over to Griffin's tent and repeating the same process.

"I'm up," Griffin grunted and jumped up from his sleeping bag.

"Same here," Davis yawned and shook his head.

"That was some quality snooze time," Wilkins grinned and pulled on a combat shirt.

"Right on brother," Taylor agreed before sneezing.

All the ruckus from waking up the fireteam leaders seem to not phase anyone except Tory who was quietly prepping his gear in the corner. The men shrugged on armored vests, jackets and packs. Within minutes they were wearing their full combat loads and turned towards the sleeping grunts who were still snoring away in their sleeping bags. I looked to the fireteam leaders who procured what looked like iPod speakers. They turned the speakers up to maximum power and started the song. I instantly recognized the tune and lyrics.

"_My grandmother was 71!" _a gruff voice sang from the speakers.

"_My grandmother was 71!"_ the sound of young Marines running repeated.

"_Did her PT just for fun!" _the drill sergeant sang once again.

"Turn that shit off please!" Mejia grumbled from his sleeping bag.

"Wake the fuck up!" I screamed, making a few of the grunts jump in their sleeping bags.

"Wake up!" The fireteam leaders yelled.

The culsterfuck of waking up was massive. Marines started coming out of their cocoons just to trip and slip, smashing their faces into the wall. Others rolled over in their bags to grab their gear. I watched, shaking my head at the so called 'Marines'. Within five minutes, everyone was shrugging on gear and grabbing their toothbrushes. The squad exited the barracks and headed straight towards the river while the team leaders synced comms with me inside the barracks. Captain Eddington poked her head through the entrance and was greeted by the cheerful Wilkins. I saw Langley brush his way past her without saying a word. The tension between the two was extremely tense.

"Elizabeth," I said seeing her glance at me, "do you have radios for I-COM (Intercept Communications)?"

"I have the radio and know how to understand I-COM chatter. But, I don't have the frequencies," she replied as I dug into my trouser pants to procure a notebook my previous translator used.

"This notebook belonged to Kayab, my previous translator. He was killed in combat but wanted someone to use this to help us take his country back from the Taliban," I explained and handed the small dust covered book to Elizabeth.

"Everything inside contains information on the Taliban's I-COM frequencies to the local people's goals for the future," I said, "Keep it safe."

She didn't say anything and simply looked at the notebook. Griffin, Davis, Taylor and Wilkins grabbed their packs and shrugged them on after taking a few brief minutes to do their hygienic routine. The leadership component of the infantry fireteam was ready to move out. Our current job was to carry ammunition to the gates and distribute them before we stepped off. I double-checked my gear, making sure everything was secure and that it didn't make noise as I moved.

"Davis, Griffin, Taylor, Wilkins," I said seeing the four turn towards me, "we have to go pick up ammunition."

"Roger that Staff Sergeant," Griffin said with a short nod.

The six of us walked towards the armory, including Captain Eddington to pick up our ordered supplies. Twelve boxes of various types of ammunition. Each weighed in at approximately fifteen kilograms/thirty five pounds each. Two boxes per men. That didn't bother me but it did sure bother the younger men not used to hoofing it with thirty to fifty kilograms of gear or sixty pounds to hundred pounds on their backs.

The front gates were simple, dreadfully so. Two small hescos were positioned with just enough space for a Humvee to get through and beyond that were rolls of barbwire arranged in alternating patterns to prevent the enemy from running straight into the FOB. This helped against suicide bombers, car bombs and just overall suicide attacks. The two watchtowers were always constantly monitored by a pair of standard Marine Infantry with designated marksman.

I stopped at the gates and placed the metal boxes on the ground, opening up to reveal a multitude of bullets. The fireteam leaders copied my actions and started pulling out their magazines. Pistols, rifles and machine gun magazines were topped off for the patrol. Water bladders filled, gear checked and radios synced. I ran through multiple checklists with the leadership before my Marines showed up minutes before the step-off time. They repeated what we just completed and prepared to initiate the patrol. I took a look at my watch. 0315 Hours. I turned around to see the men in their fireteams, running through their own final checks.

"Listen up!" I yelled and caught the attention of the Marines.

"We are no longer Bulldog One," I said hearing my radio squawk to life, "we will revert bag to our original call sign. We are Carnage 3-3, hooah?"

"Hooah!" They screamed back with such ferocity, a couple pet dogs in the FOB started to bark at them for being so loud.

"Carnage 3 Actual, radio check," the radio squawked as the squad leaders reported in.

"Carnage 3-3, Lima Charlie," I replied. Loud and Clear.

Time was starting to wind down and there was still no sign of Weapons Platoon's Charlie squad. 0323 Hours. The ragtag group of soldiers finally showed up, their squad leader apparently a fresh Lance Corporal with absolutely no battlefield experience. Their weapons were spit shine new, their boots barely dirtied and their faces still as soft as a baby's bottom. The Lance Corporal was dead serious, but the men in his squad wasn't. How there was no Sergeant to command the squad? I didn't care. It was my patrol and it was my responsibility to shape these slim Marines into a warrior. What I didn't expect were four more men. Or should I say women to add to the already big patrol.

"Fucking great," I whispered seeing the Lance Corporal and a female soldier walk up to me.

"Lance Corporal...Flint," he wheezed, already out of breath.

"Calm down Marine," I ordered, "take a breath and then talk."

"Lance Corporal Flint Aldermen reporting for duty," he managed to spit out.

"And you?" I asked the female soldier.

"Lieutenant Jody Holland, Female Engagement Fireteam Leader," she replied as I nodded before turning around and squeezing the radio transmit.

"Carnage 33 Actual, Carnage 3 Actual, we have a Lieutenant Jody Holland from the FET reporting in," I spoke looking back and seeing the Marine crouching. The patrol didn't even start yet.

"Get off your knees Marine and form into my ranks," I ordered, waiting for the reply.

"Yeah Carnage 33 Actual, we've been ordered to attach a FET team at the last minute," Lieutenant Able replied.

"Last minute? You don't even give me a heads up 3 Actual?" I asked, waving Fireteam Alpha to the front of the patrol.

"Yes Staff Sergeant?" Davis asked with his men shrugging the gear on their backs.

"You got point. Make sure Mejia pulls out that fucking mine detector as we step off. I do not want your legs being blown off, understood?" I ordered seeing the team leader nod.

"Sorry about that. This order comes from the top 33 Actual," Lieutenant Able replied as I turned to the Lieutenant.

"Do you speak Pashto?" I asked seeing her nod.

"Good. Fall in line with Captain Eddington and follow her orders," I turned around to start the patrol but was interrupted by the FET team leader.

"Sergeant, might I remind you that we are on a miss-" I cut her off.

"You are attached to my squad, Lieutenant. You _will_ follow my orders or you might get a bullet to the head. How long have you been here?" I spoke quickly and sternly, I didn't have time to spare as the patrol was about to start.

"T-Two weeks," she stuttered back.

"I've been here six months and I just got my tour extended by another fucking month. It is god damn volatile in this country Lieutenant. If you want to report me for talking back to a superior, sure, go ahead. I got called back into service, I don't need to be here, and it's my job to watch these kids. I have nothing to lose," I growled seeing her nod calmly before walking back to issue orders to her team.

"That's a bit bloody harsh," Captain Eddington quipped.

"I've already got a bloated squad. Least they could do is monitor I-COM," I replied and looked for Langley, who was close to the back of the line.

"Hey Langley!" I screamed seeing him jog to me.

"Yeah Staff Sergeant?" the Scotsman asked.

"Stay behind Eddington. You're my radioman," I ordered and saw him nod in reply.

"You got it Sergeant," he replied and assumed his position.

"All call signs, all call signs, this is Carnage 3 Actual. Patrols beginning in two minutes. Good luck," Lieutenant Able spoke on platoon wide comms.

I saw Mejia pull out his mine detector while the rest of the patrol readied their gear. Final, last minute checks began with the melody of gear clacking and clicking. I double checked my rifle and my armor to make sure that everything was tied down a secure. A series of muffled pats slowly traveled through the squad to signal that each man, or woman, was ready. With a final tug on my helmet, I felt someone slap my shoulder. I continued the procedure and slapped the guy's shoulder in front of me.

"Front ready! Patrol ready!" Mejia screamed out.

"Alright, all call signs initiate patrol. Good luck and may the seas be calm gentlemen," Lieutenant Able said right on time as the clock ticked 0330 Hours.

"Charlie squad move out!" I screamed seeing Mejia walk out the gates.

Outside the base were only a few flood lights to bath the road. Apart from those, nothing else illuminated the land in front of us. Pitch black darkness waited for the patrol and what lurked inside it. With some nervousness one by one we stepped off with a meter or two in between each one of us. The spacing was meant to protect men from IEDs. If one person got struck, the man behind wouldn't be in the helicopter next to the wounded due to the large spacing. As I stepped out of the gate, it felt like entering a neighborhood filled with people waiting to kill you at every corner. Adrenaline soared and our senses were cranked to the limits of our perception. Each step made my gut twist and turn. It was a feeling so bad, one couldn't describe it.

"Carnage 33 Actual, Carnage 3 Actual, we have stepped off. Proceeding on planned patrol route, over."


End file.
